Aegon's Charter
by TheSwordinTheDarkness310
Summary: Set during the final years of the Mad King's reign. Aegon V Targaryen was a people's king. He had grand plans for the good of his beloved realm;but when those plans failed he looked for other ways to fulfill his destiny. Amidst sorcery and dragon eggs the King with his dreams perished untimely at Summerhall; but smoke & grief weren't the only legacy Aegon the Fifth left behind. AU
1. God's Eye: Edmun I

**Chapter 1**

* * *

 **281 AC**

 **God's Eye**

* * *

It was done, finally. The four year long winter was over in the Riverlands. Cold winds didn't blow anymore, and the snows had finally stopped beating down upon the nearly spent realm. Winter didn't go away just like that, for it was after two full weeks since the last snowfall that the four years long dream had started to take shape. The dream that had given men and women strength to live through days of agonizing cold, that had kept the people huddled together and hold on to loved ones, and not despair when the frigid weather became unbearable and the Stranger himself seemed to call out for them.

It was the dream of _spring,_ for after every nightfall there's a sunrise. The dream of a warm rising sun that'd smash aside all the cold and pain, of new bountiful harvests that'd wipe out the starvation and sickness. A dream of better days, for what else can one do when winter comes.

The dream was taking shape in many ways. The sun was getting warmer everyday, and the Earth was singing its most bewitching song. A heavy motherly scent filled the air as the soil thawed and flooded. Tender leaves had already dared to creep though the barren branches and were now growing strong. On the back of a thick humus new grass sprouted out of the wet soil, attracting hungry animals whose growing chatter became more and more discernible. And people, how could one not talk about them. Mornings saw folks emerging from their homes with a hopeful smile on their weathered faces, and the look of sage determination as they moved to restart their living. The Gods had heard their prayers, now it was time to thank them in full.

Open plains and woods surrounded God's eye, the ancient huge lake in the middle of Westeros. The colossal castle of _Harrenhal_ looming to the North had shrugged off all its ice and now formed a sharp contrast against the clear sky. On the plains grass and shrubs grew and swayed with the spring breeze, and stray beasts grazed at them in peace.

The 'peace' didn't last long though, for all of a sudden the ground began to shake with the thudding of steel hooves on earth. The sheep for once stopped their grazing and turned towards the source of the commotion. Four riders on handsome well-fed horses had come out of nowhere, or so it appeared, their heavy limbs crushing nascent grass and burrows as they galloped through the field. The sheep yelped and moved away and the horses ran past them, towards the lake.

Excited laughter of two boys filled the air.

"Slow down Lords," shouted one of the two horsemen who were trailing the other two in the front.

"Your fathers will not like it lads," called the other of the two behind. "Edmun! Hoster!You are not to ride this fast. You don't have the practice."

But all Edmun cared for was the song of his horse's hooves, the taste of the spring morning, and the cool wind blowing at his face. _You have been telling the same since the last_ ** _thousand_** _days,_ he thought, each gallop of his chestnut horse sending a quiver of pure joy through his giddy insides. His cousin Hoster hooted in blithe laughter from his side. "I have had enough practice," he called back at their grandfather's men, then called at Edmun, "Come on, race you to the lake!"

" _My lords!"_

But the lordly cousins were already away, urging their horses to go even faster. Time for caution was gone. The winter was over, the prudence was done. He and his cousin hadn't been allowed to go out of Harrenhal for four years, and within its grey walls they had grown from children of eight to tall boys of twelve. It was time of freedom for Edmun and Hoster, to fulfill all the promises they had made to themselves about what they'd do when spring arrives. Riding in the tourney grounds beside God's Eye was at the very top. Even when the spring came the boys had waited, for they had never ridden a horse before. They had learned to ride under stablemaster's watchful eyes for almost a week until the they were declared fit to go. Nothing was to stop him now, certainly not two of his father's men.

Edmun won the race. He pulled at the reins when he was four yards away from the lake, his horse drawing wet furrows as it came to a halt. _It's huge,_ he thought as he marveled at the view. One might have thought that God's Eye was an ocean had it not been for the landmarks that grounded it down; the huge towers of Harrenhal for instance; and the lush Isle of Faces in the middle, hardly visible from the shores. " _Green men live there,"_ someone had told them once. " _Disfigured men and women with leaves for ears and noses and privates, who are plotting to throw us Andals out and sacrifice our children to their tree gods."_ Edmun had been frightened when he had first heard it but now all he did was scoff. _An Isle of White trees, with carved faces, nothing more._

The two cousins stood facing the lake. Hoster was the son of the second son of Lord Walter, while Edmun had been born from the third son. They were of the same age though and both shared the common traits of House Whent; dark hair, tall stature, easy smiles. They were already almost five and a half feet tall, and anyone could see that they were both growing up to be two fine young men.

"I can't see it," Hoster said. "Can you?"

"Maybe," Edmun replied, boring his hopeful eyes in the supposed direction of the Isle. "It is too far away, but I think I see something."

His father's men caught up with them. "We are not to stay here for long my lords," Warren said. It was clear from their faces that they thought they could be more useful someplace else.

"This is where we hold the melees and jousting tourneys right?" Hoster asked.

"Aye," said Ser Agron. "These plains are your family's lands. People can't farm on them. We have our tourneys here, though there hasn't been one for some time. We _have_ to go back soon though boys. Today is important, remember?"

"Yes yes I remember," Edmun's smile grew wider. He looked at Hoster who was grinning as well. It was a special day after all. Their grandfather was to host two Kingsguard knights today. They all were told that it was for an uninteresting work, an errand from the Prince of Dragonstone; yet the whole populace of Harrenhal was thrilled. Ser Arthur Dayne was coming to Harrenhal, along with Ser Oswell Whent, the younger brother of his grandfather. The Sword of the Morning himself, and a Kingsguard knight from their own house! Spring was truly a joyous time.

"Let's stay here some more," Hoster seconded, "then we'll return. We have Maester Forlan's lessons too, so we have to be there as well." He grimaced, and Edmun smirked.

"But my lord," said Ser Agron, "what if we are late?" The knight wanted to present himself to the Kingsguard. Ser Agron was the son of the Steward and a very popular knight. He was the best lance in Harrenhal and a very good swordsman, better than most. A proper acquaintance with the Kingsguard would go a long way for Ser Agron or so he had claimed in the stables. Warren had wanted to meet them as well but he was too lowborn.

"We won't be, I promise," Edmun replied, eager to resume their ride. Ser Agron's stiff face betrayed some anxiety which gave Edmun a pause. _Had we been some other unruly boys Ser Agron would have playfully clouted our skulls and have had his way._ Not Edmun and Hoster though, they were his lord's grandsons. "I promise we won't take too much of your time Ser Agron," he added whole heartedly. The two older men nodded.

The cousins wheeled their horses and rode along the shore. Their two companions rode on their left, going back to the role of sporting grown-ups. The beautiful scenery mesmerized Edmun, and the thought about forcing Ser Agron and Warren to stay with them started fleeing. Maesters had always written of this place in such ghastly words, and tales of horror were told everywhere. Edmun could never relate to them. Harrenhal was beautiful in its own way, the biggest stronghold in the realm beside a large beautiful lake; not just a burnt castle where ghosts of Harren the Black and his sons roamed and moaned. There were charred towers and rickety chambers aye, but Edmun and the others never entered them, instead choosing to stay in the more habitable regions of the castle. _One can always avoid the bad parts and live in the good ones._ People are free to say what they want, Edmun didn't care. Harrenhal was his home.

"Do you think we'll get to talk to Ser Arthur Dayne," Hoster asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," answered Edmun. "What do you think Ser Agron?"

"Oh you will, or so I've heard," Ser Agron replied. "Ser Arthur Dayne always talks to lesser lords and smallfolk wherever he goes. Young ones in particular."

"Really," asked Hoster. "I thought he'd be a busy man, being a Kingsguard and all."

"He is," Ser Agron replied. "But the man is smart, and wise. He knows what he means to the people of the realm, so he chooses to lead by example. It inspires loyalty among the subjects."

Warren chuckled. "It'd come handy now won't it? The King is one of those mad ones!"

That made Edmun look at Warren. "The King is _mad_? What do you mean?"

"Aye he is, in literal sense," he said. "Loves to execute the criminals by burning. _Never_ washes himself or cuts his hair, people say he is afraid of knives and blades. Targaryens are often crazy. Everyone knows it."

"That's odd," said Hoster. "If King Aerys is mad, then why are people not against him."

Warren chuckled again. "It was winter for last four years lad. People were more worried about freezing to death than a mad king. The last four years were quiet. Maybe something will happen now. Winter is over, and the lords will go back to their game."

"The game never stopped Warren," said Ser Agron. "Prince Rhaegar wed Lady Elia during the winter. The game is always played here."

"What game," asked Hoster.

"Why young lord, the only game they _can_ play," said Warren. "The game of thrones."

Edmun felt himself bristle. He had heard this phrase, and not in good light. He looked down at his horse who was trotting along without any care in the world. "What do you think Ser Agron?"

Ser Agron gave him an assuring look. "Don't you worry about that lad. You enjoy your first spring. It will all be good. Going against the King would mean war, and no one wants that. The Lannisters are the only one who hold a grudge, that is all. The Crown has the Dornish and the Stormlords firmly behind it. Prince of Dragonstone's wife is a Dornish Princess, and the previous Lord Baratheon was a good friend of King Aerys, when he was sane that is. The Reachmen too support the Crown, the Lords of Tyrell have always loved to lick the Dragon boots."

Edmun nodded. His cousin asked some more questions, something about the Vale lords and the Starks of Winterfell which Edmun chose to not listen to. Instead he shifted his focus again to the lake. There was a breeze in the air, wafting smells of grass and wet earth into his nostrils. Sadly the lake wasn't catching any of it. The ice in the middle still prevented waves in the lake. _How beautiful will it be when summer arrives in full, it will be all blue with waves._ Edmun's eyes traced the shore from where he rode, further along to the bend ahead where a large smooth rock was lying.

He did a double take. _What is that?_ His eyes stayed fixed at the rock as his horse kept walking along. "Look," he pointed in the direction of the rock, lying so close to the lake that its one end had frozen into it. "What is that," he asked Warren to his left. Warren didn't reply at once. Instead his eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed, and this got Edmun interested. The rock was long and flat as a doughpan. Not just that, it was shining at places, catching the light like polished wood. He looked at Ser Agron, whose face was stoic, refusing to budge. Edmun urged his horse forward and Hoster followed his suit from behind.

"Wait Lord Edmun," Ser Agron called, but he didn't listen this time. These were his grandfather's lands after all, so Edmun had a _right_ to see what's in them. The rock was catching more and more light as he neared it. _What makes a stray stone that shiny, and that flat, and that large? Is that really a stone?_

Edmun dismounted when he was in front of it; a large rock, thin and flat, about four feet long, two feet wide, polished stone. He also spotted etchings on it surface. _It's a plaque,_ he thought, _but it is too large to be a plaque._ Hoping that his horse doesn't run away, Edmun walked towards the lake, to its bank where the stone lay.

"My lords," he heard Warren and Agron's calls.

Edmun ran a hand across the wet surface. He glanced behind at Hoster who looking over from a distance. It had writing etched on it, or rather used to have. The rock had been chipped at crudely and cruelly, by someone who had apparently loathed it; Edmun could sense it. _Rocks can't be burned, so they must be chipped away._ His eyes identified stray hooks and dashes in between the crude gashes made by chisel and hammer. Those had been part of some script once, wholesome and coherent, before being destroyed with such caustic rage. His eyes caught something else at the end touching the lake. There the engravings were much deeper, deep enough to not be corroded completely, hence discernible. Edmun moved and bored his eyes into them and made out two clear words, or so he thought.

 _ **AEGON'S CHARTER** _

_Is it Aegon?_ Edmun wasn't sure. Warren's voice came from behind "It's time to go lad," He said. "We'll be late!"

Edmun's curiosity had peaked. It was no common name, but a King's name, or rather the name of _five_ Kings that had ruled the realm once. "Do you know what this is," Edmun asked them.

"Not a clue," Ser Agron replied effortlessly. "Why don't you ask the Maester. You _can_ ask him can't you? Cmon off we go," he patted his horse's side.

Edmun frowned but he obeyed Ser Agron. As they started riding back to the castle he turned to glance at the rock one last time. _Aegon,_ it had said. Why would someone destroy writing which had a King's name on it. _Which Aegon is it?_ Five Aegons had ruled the realm, each with his own moniker. Edmun's first guess was Aegon the Unworthy _. His words must have been unworthy, so here they lie beside the lake._ He asked Ser Agron about it to which he gave a measured reply. "Aye it says Aegon, but not Aegon the Unworthy. It is the fifth Aegon, Aegon the Unlikely."

 _Didn't you just say that you had no clue._ Edmun looked at the others. His cousin didn't seem interested, while the two men were as reluctant as they could be.

The sun had risen up high by the time they neared the village. The smallfolk's lively chatter became very pronounced as they rode on, and the scent of earth and grass gave way to the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat. Soon enough they had left the nature behind and were amongst people. The village had woken up fully and people were out and about. The castle would be busy as well by now. His family must be at the breakfast table, eating bacon and eggs and bread. They'd begin their daily routine after that. His father Lord Clynton Whent and his uncles would begin their lordly tasks, hearing to petitioners and punishing criminals and what not; his mother Lady Gisella and his aunts must have already began ordering around the servants and kitchen staff; and his elder sister Milly would go to her septa like the other highborn maidens in the castle, for doing things that girls do. Edmun himself would be going to the Maester's quarters for his lessons, after that things would be different than daily because of the Kingsguards' arrival, or so he hoped.

The scents of pristine nature were totally gone by the time they reached Harrenhal, and the air became heavy with sounds characteristic of human settlements. They went past the gates of Harrenhal, through the thick grey archway that led into the castle's courtyard. Edmun watched as they trailed past a long queue of ragtag villagers who used to come to his uncles and father everyday ever since spring broke, asking for things. He spotted some familiar faces among them, though he couldn't recall where he had seen them before. _They live in the village, so the village mayhaps._ A lanky stableboy took the reins of Edmun's horse with his frostbite ridden fingers. Warren and Ser Agron took their leave there. Edmun turned towards his cousin. "So what do you think was written on that stone," he asked.

"I don't know," Hoster answered. "It might not be that important you know."

"Maybe, but don't you want to know about it?"

Hoster shrugged. "Why would I really?"

"Oh come on," said Edmun. "You surely saw Warren and Ser Agron's reaction when I asked them about it. They had the same faces our parents have when we ask them about the bedding ceremony."

Hoster snickered. "We should do it again," he said with mischief. "Let's see how they do this time. We will soon be men, they surely know that we know." Edmun rolled his eyes which made Hoster talk further. "Fine fine we will ask the maester."

They freshened up in their rooms and made way for the Maester's quarters. Edmun greatly admired Maester Forlan. He was a good man, a fountain of knowledge. The maester had taught his father and uncles and had delivered most of the children in Harrenhal, including Edmun and his sister. Edmun wasn't as fond of his lessons as some others but he enjoyed listening him speak. Today he had an important question to ask him. What was that rock, what was written on it, which of the five Aegons does it talk about? He made his way through the gravelly courtyard, dodging past rushing servants and soldiers as he headed for the maester's quarters. He spotted his thin grey clad frame from afar; the Maester was busy talking to his second aunt Lady Mara.

"Maester Forlan," he said when he presented himself to the wise man. "I am here!"

A warm smile lit up Maester Forlan's face when his eyes found Edmun. "Oh good. This is a lucky day for you young lords," he spoke. "We won't be having our lessons today. I have some important work to do, for Lord Whent and the Kingsguard."

Edmun frowned, which puzzled the maester. "Go have fun Lord Edmun. No lessons today, don't you children love that?" He turned and started walking away. Edmun followed him. "Wait Maester Forlan. I have a question."

Maester stopped to listen to him. "Hurry up my lord. I am short of time today as you can see."

Edmun didn't waste words. "I found a rock near the eastern shore of the lake. A big rock. It had the name of the fifth Aegon Targaryen. Ser Agron said..."

Maester Forlan cut him off, his voice intense all of a sudden. "Hush now," his eyes had narrowed dangerously. He came closer to Edmun. "Don't talk about this here. We'll speak of this in the evening, or tomorrow." He walked away, and Edmun heard him muttering, '.. _why didn't they break it down when they had the chance..."_

 _ **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx** _

"The realm sees hardships everyday, but it keeps moving forward." Ser Arthur Dayne spoke in his regal voice as he leaned forward from his seat, and the children listened with rapt attention. The Kingsguard had arrived before noon as they all were told. They had soon retired to the Lord's solar with Lord Walter, along with Edmun's father, uncles and two eldest male cousins. It was after an hour or so that Ser Arthur had emerged from inside to announce that he'd talk to the young lords and ladies now. The main hall was emptied, and a plush armchair was placed at head of the room. Chairs were placed at the front for the members of the Whent family, while the other children of the castle (and even those from the village) were seated behind them on the matted floor.

"It moves past hardships, winning against freezing winters and hot summers, because brave men will it so. Men _and women_ both. We all have parts to play, different parts, but they all lead to the same goal. Even if you are not a Kingsguard or even a knight, you deserve the same _dignity_ as every other person does, being a child of the Gods. Each of you can be of service to the Gods, to the realm, to your lord, and of course to the King." Ser Arthur Dayne concluded with these remarks, and many clapped loudly. His sister Milly was looking at Ser Arthur with wide misty eyes. _She is in love already,_ He smirked and turned his gaze back to the Sword of the Morning seemed to have been brought to life straight from a fairytale. He was handsome, and gallant, and had a legendary sword. Perhaps that is the reason why his companion Ser Oswell Whent was still inside talking business in Lord Walter's solar, while Ser Arthur Dayne had come out here to say inspiring things to children. _They both have parts to play._

Sure Ser Arthur was impressive in his own right; but the things he said, Edmun had heard the same things from Maester Forlan many a times. He looked at Hoster and Lucas and found that many shared his emotions.

"Whether you are a lord or a peasant, give everyone the respect that they deserve," said Ser Arthur. "Now I want you all to ask questions. You can ask anything. Don't feel shy."

Of course most questions were about how to become a Kingsguard knight, worded in different ways by wide eyed boys. Edmun himself had often dreamed of becoming a Kingsguard, defending the King and serving the realm; but most of the time that dream had seemed too far-fetched. Edmun was a skilled archer and a good rider; but swordplay had always been hard for him despite his efforts. A knight's primary weapon was the sword, and as long as Edmun couldn't master it dreaming of Kingsguard would be silly.

"Kingsguards give up everything," spoke Ser Arthur. "Family, friends, lands, girls, everything. It sounds very gallant but it is a hard life. The only property held by a Kingsguard is his honor, and the currency in which he spends it, is blood. Blood and sacrifice." Many gasped on hearing it. Ser Arthur continued. "Only the noblest men who are dedicated to serve the realm get the honor to become a Kingsguard."

On hearing that Edmun remembered something and he raised his hand for the first time. Ser Arthur gestured at him to speak. "Ser Arthur," he began, unsure of how to address such a great knight. "There is a man sworn to my father, his name is Warren. He helps everyone who needs help and doesn't ask anything in return, and he is the best swordsman in Harrenhal; but he doesn't think he can be a Kingsguard knight."

"Why does he say so child," Ser Arthur asked.

"He says he is too lowborn for it," Edmun added. "I asked the maester about it; he said that Kingsguard knights are all highborn lords." Ser Arthur's violet eyes narrowed. Edmun continued in earnest. "Ser Arthur, can you meet Warren. Talk to him, see how good he is."

His eyes were still twinkling, but it was as if the knight had worn a different face all of a sudden. A face that was heavy with thought, not the previous face of a wise uncle telling his nephews and nieces stories. "I will talk to him young lord. If he is as good as you say he is, then I will even introduce him to the Prince. Are you happy now child?"

Edmun nodded. It was Lucas, Edmun's cousin, who spoke next. "Ser Arthur, how does the Crown ensure that the knights chosen as Kingsguards are more dedicated than all others? There have been many vile knights as well."

Ser Arthur smiled. "It is wisdom of the King young lord, that determines the quality of the men surrounding him. Prince Rhaegar," he cleared his throat, "is a great leader..."

"What about King Aerys," blurted out 'Martyn the Heir', son of Edmun's eldest uncle, a huge prick. "Is he.."

"You shouldn't interrupt others when they are speaking boy" Ser Arthur said sharply, and Martyn paled and shut up. "Kingsguard are supposed to guard the King, and as such they have to be someone the King trusts. Oftimes such men are highborn, as the King hardly has time to know many common people personally. Ser Duncan the Tall was one of the Kingsguards who were commoners. He was a hedge knight, but he had the trust of the King of that time, and hence he went on to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Does it mean that children such as us can never be Kingsguard," asked Tommy, son of the cook.

"It is up to the Gods," Ser Arthur conceded. "There are places where everyone has an equal chance to rise high. In Bravos there is an open test for one to join the Iron Bank; same thing happens in Tyrosh too, in its banks as well as the infamous Tyroshi guilds that make the wares that our Westerosi ladies and lords love. They hold tests to enroll acolytes. In Westeros the closest thing to this is the Citadel where anyone can enroll..."

"Not _anyone_ Ser Arthur," said Tana, another commoner. The other girls looked at her with mixed emotions. _Does she really want to be a maester,_ Edmun mused.

"True," said Ser Arthur. "It was tried once here, to improve the chances of the common people. It was in the time of the King's grandfather, Aegon Targaryen fifth of his name; but the endeavor was rejected and removed, but let's not..."

Hearing the name of the fifth Aegon clicked something inside Edmun's mind. He remembered the rock beside the lake whose writing was removed as well, _violently_ at that. It was as if a burden of some heavy mystery had shed off its weight from his mind and he had jumped free. " _Aegon's Charter_?" He blurted out before he could stop.

Ser Arthur's eyes snapped back to Edmun, and bored into him. _"What did you say_?"

Edmun gulped. "Ae..gon's Charter."

"What do you know about that?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "I read it somewhere."

Ser Arthur looked away, but something told Edmun that the knight wasn't done with him. "Are there any more questions," he asked in a definitive tone. When no one replied he got up from his seat and gestured them all to disperse.

It was well past noon now. As soon as Edmun reached the courtyard he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was one of the men at arms travelling with the Kingsguard knights, who told him that Ser Arthur wants to talk to him. Edmun was led by the man towards the stables, where Ser Arthur Dayne stood leaning against the stable fence. "Come young lord," he called when he noticed them, in a casual tone that very different from the one he used in the hall. _The tone in which Harrenhal knights talk to one another,_ Edmun realised. He walked to him, unsure of what to say, or think.

Ser Arthur gestured the man to leave. "First of all young lord, I offer my thanks. Giving the same speech to the children, over and _over_ again, castle after castle, it had become tedious. I am not even a good orator. But Prince Rhaegar wants me to do it, and who am I to refuse him. _You,_ " Ser Arthur nodded at Edmun, "have been a novelty."

"Tell me," the knight asked, pushing strands of silver hair behind his ears. " _That phrase_ you blurted out in the hall, what do you know of _it._ "

"Nothing ser," Edmun said truthfully. "We went for a ride today, me and my cousin Hoster. We found a large rock beside the lake. It had this engraved on it."

"Just this?"

"No, Ser Arthur," Edmun mumbled. He had heard great tales of this man, of his prowess in swordsmanship, his legendary sword Dawn, of his victory over the Kingswood Brotherhood. It was all too much for Edmun, so much that he avoided Ser Arthur's eyes. "Look at me when you speak to me boy," Ser Arthur said in an amused tone. "I am a _Kingsguard_ after all."

Edmun looked at Ser Arthur. "There were other words too, once. They had all been chipped away."

Ser Arthur did something that Edmun didn't expect. His eyes crinkled and he started chuckling, and the soon chuckle turned into careless laughter. The horses in the stable whickered and shied away on hearing the sudden laughter. His laughter was infectious and Edmun smiled despite his confusion. "Why are you laughing Ser Arthur," he asked finally.

"You wouldn't get it young lord," said Ser Arthur as he wiped his eyes. "Here, of all places, where it all began." He cleared his throat and made his voice normal, though his eyes still danced with bitter mirth.

"I have visited many castles around Westeros young lord...what's your name?"

"Edmun."

"Let me restart Lord Edmun. Do you know why Prince Rhaegar wants me to talk to children wherever I go, and not the adults?"

Edmun shook his head. Ser Arthur replied. "It is because he believes that most adults are hopeless; set in their ways. If you want real change you have to start at a young age, though in many places the children are hopeless as well." The knight smiled a bitter smile. "So, as I was saying, I have visited and spoken in many castles, and out of all of them it was only here that I was questioned about fairness and _rights_. Like all the other castles in Harrenhal too the men and women seem to know their place. Lords stand away from the servants and make sure that they know who commands. Not the children though." He looked at Edmun pointedly. "You all even sat together in the same chamber. Why is it so I wonder? Why do young lords here care for the common people?

"Not everyone is like that here Ser Arthur. My uncle's son Martyn bullies other..."

"Very well." the knight cut him off. "Why do _you_ care Lord Edmun, about the people?"

Edmun was taken aback. "I never said that I.."

"You want your father's man Warren to meet me right? So he too has a chance to become a _Kingsguard,"_ he said the word as if it was a jape. "What made you think of him? And finally, what is so special about Harrenhal, that all the children here were made to sit together?"

Edmun blinked. "We weren't made to sit together my lord," he said. "We chose to."

"Why?"

"Why not," he said and stared back at the knight. "We have always sat together, it is nothing new."

"Tell me," said Ser Arthur.

"We had winter for the last four years," Edmun said. "Father told me that it wasn't that severe compared to previous ones, but still there were nights when the cold became unbearable. Harrenhal is poor, broken and burnt at many places. Not all the inhabited chambers can beat the chill of the cold nights. There are cracks in the chamber walls, and once the wind gets in you can't stay in them let alone sleep there. So on most nights the whole populace used to sleep in the same halls, children in particular. We all used to share the same fires. We ate together, played together, slept together. And when we did that, we weren't lords or peasants, we all were children wanting to stay warm and safe, and staying together gave us that. Sure the winter is done and the nights of sleeping cold and frightened are behind us, but why stop now?"

Ser Arthur's face was beaming. "Divided by birth, united by winter," he said to himself. "The winter is over though, so that might change."

"Ser?"

"Your man Warren may not be the only one getting a royal audience. Perhaps the Prince would like to meet you as well, young lord."

"What do you mean Ser Arthur?"

"I shouldn't tell you this, but you'll find out soon enough anyway," said Ser Arthur, as he pushed himself off the railing and stood up straight. "Your lord grandfather is soon to organize a huge tourney here, where lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come and take part. Prince Rhaegar will be there as well, and he'd love to meet you."

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"Maester Forlan. I am here," Edmun called when he at the door of the maester's chamber. It was evening now. All the important business seemed to have been done, as most had retired to their leisurely activities. "Come in Lord Edmun," the maester called.

He was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a parchment. Edmun walked and took a seat opposite him. "Tell me about Aegon's Charter Maester Forlan."

The maester looked up. "Why do you want to know about it lad," he asked. "Go outside and play! Do things that boys do."

"I said its name in front of Ser Arthur," he said, and the maester looked up in alarm. "He seemed to know about it. He even talked to me alone after that."

"That was foolish boy," Maester barked in anger, and Edmun was taken aback. "Children shouldn't speak of things they know nothing about. Do you know how much trouble you might have caused?"

"I am not a child anymore," Edmun talked back. "I will soon be thirteen, almost a man grown."

"How much of the world have you even seen Lord Edmun," said Maester Forlan, his wrinkled throat moving up and down. "There are things we learn with age. Know your place."

"Will you tell me about that phrase," Edmun pushed. "What does it mean?"

The maester leaned forward on his desk. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes maester," he replied.

The maester didn't say anything. He just sat there leaning on his desk. Edmun waited for him to speak, but the sience dragged on. In between his palms supporting his head the Maester's eyes were closed shut, as if he was remembering something horrible. Edmun had started thinking of giving up on asking him when the old maester finally spoke. "The meaning is plain enough," he said. "It means a charter, written by Aegon Targaryen Fifth of his name." Maester Forlan opened his eyes, and the sorrow in them troubled Edmun.

"I was there that day," Maester's voice quivered. "the day _they_ tried to take over. That was a bad time Lord Edmun, _very_ bad. The grounds on which you rode in the morning, they are green and clean today; but about twenty years ago a huge fight took place there. Many were killed, so many...the land was red with blood and _bodies_." Edmun's eyes widened. He remembered the lake and the green tourney grounds from that morning. There was no sign of any battle or anything unusual. _Except for the large stone everyone is so afraid of,_ he recalled.

"Who fought there Maester Forlan," he asked. "Why did they fight?"

"We will get to that," he replied. "First tell me, what do you know about the fifth Aegon?"

"Not much really," Edmun admitted. "He married a Blackwood Lady from the Riverlands, who later became the Queen. He is also called Aegon the Unlikely."

"Yes," affirmed the Maester. "He was called the 'Unlikely' because no one expected him to become a King, right until the day he was crowned by the Great Council. He was the youngest of four sons of King Maekar, but his eldest two brothers had died while the third became a maester. So there he was, an Unlikely King, a man who had until that point spent most of his life wandering around unnoticed, living and laughing with the smallfolk. No one had said a word when he married a Lady who was the _third_ daughter of House Blackwood, for everyone thought that he would never amount to much. So much had his time with the commoners influenced him that at the Great Council most High lords considered him half a peasant. But he had the strongest blood, and the Crown went to him."

With feeble hands the maester reached for his brass tumbler, from which he took a sip of water. "So the realm had a Peasant King. A married man of three and thirty years. He had big plans for his Seven Kingdoms, to give the populace rights that he thought they deserved, that he'd witnessed them being deprived of in his time with the smallfolk. Fixed revenue, protection from lords and their men, entitlements to bread and roof, and many more. When he enforced some of these the Lords called it an violation of their lordly rights. There was a terrible winter during the early years of his reign, and when the King sent aid to the North during it he was called too generous and weak."

Edmun felt a respect blooming inside him for this late King. _This is how a King should be like,_ he thought. Maester Forlan continued. "King Aegon was wise and he knew his limitations. To pacify the Lords he came up with a plan. He arranged betrothals of his children to members of many Great Houses of Westeros. A cordial relation with the Lord Paramounts would have surely helped him to push his smallfolk friendly plans. But all his children were cut from a very _different_ cloth. Aegon had _never_ controlled his children, mostly leaving them to do as as they wished, as he himself had done when he was a boy." The Maester sighed.

"That became his undoing. Each of his issue rejected the betrothals and followed their own heart." He shook his head in disdain. "His heir married a commoner and gave up the throne, his second son married his own sister, and his third son stayed unmarried. So instead of coming under the royal fold the Great Houses became angry and hostile; and Aegon's carefully crafted schemes were torn asunder."

Edmun looked down, unsure of what to think of it. "King Aegon didn't give up," the maester continued. "He married his other daughter into House Baratheon, but that didn't achieve much. Now he thought of other ways to fulfill his plans. The King had lost faith in the Lords and now knew that going for any further reform would mean going against them." Maester Forlan remembered something else. "Bear in mind though, that in all this the _North_ hadn't been considered as much as the other Kingdoms. Ever since the Dance the Starks of Winterfell have mostly kept to themselves." Edmun nodded, enthralled by the tale.

"Everyone knows that the first Aegon Targaryen melted the Seven Kingdoms into one with dragons," said Maester Forlan. "It was dragons that had given the Targaryen kings real power. Ever since the dragons died they've had to rely on political marriages and alliances to retain supremacy. Aegon thought of going back to the old days. If he had a dragon like the first Aegon, then he could once again beat the Great houses into submission. So King Aegon ordered his confidants to restart the efforts of hatching the dragon eggs. Wise men from all over the world were called, having knowledge of many disciplines, including alchemy and sorcery."

" _Sorcery?_ " Edmun was shocked.

"Yes Lord Edmun," the maester looked pointedly at him. "In addition to that,.. he drafted a _Charter_. In it he wrote of justice, of fairness. He proposed right and liberties every person deserves, irrespective of birth. Rights that are necessary and the ones that are additional. He gave orders to engrave it on rocks and stone walls, which were to be placed everywhere. Once again the North was excluded."

"How did he get them placed Maester Forlan," asked Edmun. "Weren't the noble houses against him."

"King Aegon managed to get the support of the Stormlands and Dorne with skillful diplomacy. With their support along with the Iron Throne's treasury he raised a Legion, not to fight a war but to do his work. It was named after him, ' _Aegon's Legion'. It_ had all sorts of people in it, hedge knights, peasants, scholars, second and third sons, septons and septas, and the knights sworn to the Crown. They were a diverse lot, but despite their differences they were dedicated to the King and his Charter. The Crown trained them and armed them. They moved all over Westeros, except the North and Iron Islands, placing Aegon's Charter everywhere, teaching about it and enforcing it. The Lords were stricken, but they didn't want to go against the Crown. The King was already preparing for the possibility of war. He had the Stormlanders and Dornish behind him, and he was increasing the efforts for hatching the eggs. Some called him desperate, even mad. Many believe that those efforts delved heavily into sorcery. Many feared that something would go wrong in all the haste." The maester gulped. "And it did. _Everything_ went wrong one day.."

"Summerhall," said Edmun.

" _Yes_ ," the Maester moaned. "They were trying to hatch dragon eggs there, but something went amiss and the whole castle exploded and burned down, along with the King and his Kingsguard, and his eldest son and his wife. Once again, Aegon's schemes were torn asunder, along with him."

"What happened then," Edmun asked.

"As soon as the King died his son Jaehaerys took the Throne. The first order he gave was the disbandment of the _Aegon's Legion,"_ Maester Forlan paused. "The _Legion_ were branded outlaws. The lords started hunting them down wherever they could find them. The men and women of the legion fled from wherever they were, but they didn't lose hope. They wanted to continue their original fight; so the members met secretly near God's Eye." Maester paused. "Perhaps that is what they had planned beforehand, in case such a thing happens, to meet near God's Eye. Perhaps they wanted to take over Harrenhal for food and weapons. Your grandfather Lord Walter Whent was informed of this, so he assembled his men and rode out against the outlaws."

Edmun gasped. "Why," he managed to say.

The maester didn't answer him. "A battle ensued, and the outlaws were routed. They were scattered after that, and that was the end of Aegon's legion." Maester cleared his throat again. "They broke into three groups, with differing opinions. One group wanted to wage war against the new King Jaehaerys, so they hid themselves in the Kingswood. Soon they all turned mad and started calling themselves the _Kingswood Brotherhood_. The Smiling knight was once a huge supporter of King Aegon, but hardships turned him and his followers insane and his Brotherhood started hunting lords and commoners alike. They were eliminated last year when the Smiling Knight was slain by Ser Arthur Dayne himself."

"What about the others," Edmun asked, his lips parted.

"The second group still believed in their fight and thought that they could still win. They were the wisest of the whole legion, consisting of traders, scholars and hedge knights. They had been rejected by every Southern Kingdom, so they looked towards the one mainland kingdom King Aegon had all but ignored."

" _The North._ "

"Yes my lord. That group went North, to Winterfell. They asked shelter from Lord Rickard Stark and begged for his leave to preach the Charter to the Northerners. They presented a scheme through which they could make the North more prosperous than all the other kingdoms, through the commonfolk of the North. Example was given of the Manderlys, how sheltering them had benefited the North immensely. But the Stark in Winterfell was a Lord too, and he sensed correctly that giving power to the peasants would mean that he would hold less of it. So he wasn't moved."

"At first Lord Rickard wanted to send them away, or imprison them if things go bad. He was convinced otherwise by his Maester. Lord Rickard was himself a young man of twenty. He had traveled and spent time in the Free cities before his father had passed so he saw virtue in his Maester's urgings. The second group was accepted by Winterfell and was given shelter in a nearby village called Wintertown,and that is where they started their work. They began inviting skilled smallfolk to Wintertown and marketing the coveted Northern goods and commodities. They also encouraged the commoners to adopt better trade practices. Lord Rickard took loans from the Iron Bank of Bravos and built roads, inns, and shelters. Trade and commerce flourished, and soon more and more people moved towards Winterfell. Wintertown thrived, turning into the second city of the North." The maester smiled. "However the second group soon forgot the name of Aegon Targaryen. Lord Rickard had insisted that they shed off their past loyalties and become fully dedicated towards the Starks, and the group had obeyed. They swore themselves to Winterfell and the charter was renamed and rewritten. Many of its points amended or omitted, and many new ones were added, to suit Lord Stark's needs and to pacify any possible slight offered to King Jaehaerys. No longer was it called _Aegon's Charter_. Now it was called ' _North's Way_ '." Maester Forlan finished with a bright look on his face.

"What about the third group Maester Forlan," he asked.

The bright look vanished instantaneously. "The Third group," he gulped. "They were fierce supporters of Aegon Targaryen. Many of them had descended from the old Valyrians, and had often delved into mysterious arts. It is said that they were the ones closest to Aegon and knew more of his plans than the others. They _loved_ their King but they hated the lords, and the smallfolk too for supposedly enabling them. So they fled Westeros, and founded a sellsword company in the East. After that they managed to infiltrate the Golden Company, and kill its commanders. The Golden Company was taken over and they renamed it, as _Company of Dragons_. Time away from here has only festered their hatred for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms." Suddenly Maester Forlan's voice became very quiet, as if he was afraid that someone might be listening. This scared Edmun, but he kept listening in earnest. "It is said that they are biding their time," he said. "They are watching, observing from a distance, preparing for the imminent day of reckoning; and when the time is right they will strike. They will take over the realm and smash the lordly powers aside, teach the smallfolk a sharp lesson for betraying the good King, and will implement the Aegon's Charter in full."

A chill went down Edmun's spine, and he tore his eyes away from the maester. He remembered the frigid nights of the last four years, when the cold winds had howled against the walls and windows. The orange spring sun was setting outside the window of Maester Forlan's chamber, eager to rise the next day, hotter and stronger. But despite that Edmun's ears were ringing with fear, as if the winter had never gone away. It was still there, howling inside Edmun's mind, hungry for their lives.


	2. Elia I

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The rustling of sheets woke her up, like they usually did in the mornings. Elia's eyes opened and looked to her husband's side. He was up, sitting beside her on their marriage bed, naked except for the blanket and sheets that covered him below the waist. Elia observed him more as her senses returned to her. He was just sitting there, face buried deep in his palms, his lean back etched with gooseprickles. _Nightmares again,_ she wondered. She pulled her hand from under the sheets and gently touched his back. "Rhaegar," she called.

Rhaegar's head rose from his palms. He looked down at her, and his face arranged into a smile. That was when her suspicions were confirmed. _He has dreamed again._ His handsome face was still crinkled with unease, a far cry from how people outside the bedchamber saw and remembered him. To the world her husband was the strong and wise Crown Prince, a man of with a voice of _iron_ who inspired loyalty like a man draws breath. No one knew this side of Rhaegar though, no one except Elia. She gave him a sympathetic look, asking him to share.

"Are you well Elia," he asked instead.

 _He always asks that._ She smiled as she rose up, the sheets dropping and shrugging off from her body. Rhaegar's eyes went to her breasts, then moved away, looking down at his lap.

"Bad dreams?" She asked.

Rhaegar nodded, and her eyes turned soft. "The same ones," she asked. Rhaegar nodded again. Elia could tell that he wasn't telling the whole truth. The troubled look on his otherwise strong face _was_ genuine though, and that made _her_ reach out. Elia's eyes stayed on him as she slid closer. She moved her right hand and placed it around the back of his neck, under his long silver hair. She caressed him with her warm fingers for comfort, wordlessly asking him to talk to her. Soon enough his eyes loosened and with a shuddering breath he leaned into her. She moved her hand into his hair as he kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, before resting his face on it. She shivered when his cold face touched her shoulder. His arm moved to encircle her in an embrace. Elia smiled when he did that.

"Don't you ever leave me my lady," he whispered. He used to say _that_ often as well, whenever he was troubled.

"I won't my love," she replied. "Though I am a bit hurt. You are having bad dreams on the same night we made love. What am I to make of that?"

Rhaegar snorted. "You were wonderful, Elia, like always. Don't worry about me."

 _Always the gallant knight, my husband._ "What can I do," she asked instead. Rhaegar moved up and kissed her deep on the lips, and for a moment she was in pure bliss. "You don't need to do anything my love," he said gratefully. Elia sensed the honesty in his voice but still his response made her bristle. Elia watched him as he threw off his sheets and climbed out of their bed. "I hope we made a new baby last night," he said putting on his smallclothes. "Rhaenys needs a brother, or a sister."

"I hope so too," Elia made herself smile, hoping that his seed overcomes her frail constitution and quickens, like it had when they had made Rhaenys together. "I don't want to pry, Rhaegar..."

"We are husband and wife my lady," Rhaegar looked back at her. "You can never _pry_."

"Tell me about your dreams then," she tried for an umpteenth time, as Rhaegar enclosed himself in a black robe. "We are man and wife as you said. I want to know more about what _troubles_ you so much." In response he moved back to their bed to kiss her again. This time she didn't return it.

"As I have often said, you have no need to trouble yourself with my nonsense, Elia," he said. He kissed her forehead and moved back to stand straight on the floor. Elia watched as he threw open the chamber window, bathing their chamber in the morning light. He gave a longing look towards the shelf where his harp was sitting. _He wants to play._ That was one of Rhaegar's ways to escape his troubles; a fine song from his harp could make anyone forget her woes.

His gaze turned back to Elia. "My troubles are mine to redress, you don't need to worry about it."

Elia didn't want to fight. They had had this talk several times, whenever Rhaegar's secrecy had become too much for her to handle. "Why so my prince," she asked.

Rhaegar had that look again, the _princely_ face that politely told the listener to back off. Elia hated that look, because of late it was _she_ who had been the one on its receiving end, the only one who cared enough to 'pry'. "Are the secrets of the Crown Prince too much for a homely woman like me," she heard herself say, and after a moment she realized _what_ she had just uttered. She trained her face into a smile, intending to play it off as a joke.

Rhaegar's face lost that look. He looked affronted. "Don't call yourself that."

Elia got out of her bed. She put on her smallclothes and her robe, and then looked her husband in the eyes. "I am not calling myself _that,"_ she spoke. _"_ I know I am no homely woman, I am the Princess of Dorne, the future queen, your lawful wife. That means something, but at times I feel that you seem to forget that."

"You know that is not true Elia," Rhaegar said. "You know I love you, you are very important to me."

"If that was true, then you'd be honest with me."

"I am always honest with you."

"You hide things from me," she said. "And that makes me wonder what else you are hiding. What do you discuss in those late night talks with your Kingsguard, and your secret meetings with those Essosi?" She caught the look on his face. " _What?_ You think I don't know about them? Don't insult my intelligence, _my Prince._ "

"I wonder what else is there? You _had_ told me about your nightmares once. I remember that night." She recalled. Rhaegar believed his dreams to be foretellings, and despite her skepticism Elia was ready to know more and share his concerns. Not Rhaegar though. She knew he didn't view her as a ….homely woman. He thought he was protecting her, like the knights from the fairy tales protect innocent virgin maidens. Elia was not a maiden though, nor was she foolish, she was a Princess of Dorne, and treatment like this from her own husband was downright insulting.

Had she and Rhaegar been one of those married couples who despised each other, then she'd have understood, but they weren't. Sure, their marriage hadn't started with the passion which'd be sung of in the songs, but with time it had grown, the trust, the love, and the passion too. There was strength in their bond, which they had built out of nothing, like two mature adults. Slowly but steadily they had shared more and more of their lives with one another, testing each others' boundaries, knowing each other's virtues and vices, likes and dislikes, desires and insecurities. Love had come on its own in the process, and had bloomed to become something precious. That _love_ had helped her order her life, and when Rhaenys had come along the way she had felt as content as she could ever be.

That precious _love_ was what used to come at stake for Elia every time Rhaegar hid things from her. His secrecy and his dreams; she _could_ have perhaps ignored them, had it not been for the severe effect they used to have on him. They troubled him immensely as she could see, and it broke her heart to see him like that, especially with her not being able to help him.

"One day," Rhaegar said.

"What?"

"One day, I will tell you everything," Rhaegar spoke. "You have to understand, my love, we Targaryens, we have to deal with matters that no one else does. The blood of the _dragon_ runs in us." He had told her that as well, so Elia remained unmoved. "Hurting you has never been my motive," he confessed, "nor do I think you weak. You are one of the strongest persons I know Elia, and you are my wife. But this," he hesitated. "There are things in the world that you won't believe, nor will any other sane person."

"What do you mean by 'sane'," Elia asked, remembering her mad good father.

"Trust me on this one Elia," he said, pleading. "For the sake of our time together, trust me."

Elia couldn't utter another word. She was defeated. _Defeated by love._ "I will go to the nursery to check on Rhaenys, see if she has woken up," she said instead.

Elia could hear her cooing as she was descending the winding staircase leading to the nursery. A maid was tending to her daughter, a toddler in her second year. She was a splitting image of Elia with the robustness of her father. The child squealed in delight when she saw her mother walking towards her. It was Elia's favorite sound in the world, for the last one and a half year since Rhaenys was born. She had labored for half a day to bring her into the world. It nearly killed her, but it was worth it. Elia had a happy child, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Laughing with joy Elia lifted her up and gave a kiss on her cheek, while Rhaenys pawed at Elia face with her little hands. The thoughts of her secretive husband started getting scarce already. Rhaegar came to meet Rhaenys as well but left shortly after for his routines. Elia freshened up and got dressed in a gown of black, red, and gold; ready for the day.

She descended the winding stairs and walked out of the tower into the open. Rhaenys was also with her, being carried by one of her handmaidens. The sun had risen above the walls of Maegor's Holdfast, bathing the courtyard with yellow sunlight. Her ladies-in-waiting had already gathered for breakfast in the Maidenvault. Behind them the breakfast table had already been set except for the food which was yet to be brought in. They all approached Elia on seeing her and greeted her with pleasantries about mornings and springs. Elia responded with greetings of her own. Rhaenys had her cheeks kissed and pulled playfully by many of them. Her daughter was liking it, so Elia didn't mind. Most of what these ladies did was often harmless anyway. They had come from Houses from all over the realm, most of them _child-women_ between ages of twelve and eighteen, innocent at heart and eager to please the elders, but always intent on one-uping each other to make themselves look better, often in mean ways. _They'll learn with time, and if the gods are good it will be a kind lesson._

Not all of them were like that however. There was Myra Mooton, Bella Estermont, and some others who liked to keep to themselves. And of course there was Ashara Dayne, sister of the Sword of the Morning, and perhaps the only woman here whom Elia considered a friend. She had known Ashara ever since she was a girl at play in the Water Gardens. Ashara was seventeen, three years junior to Elia, but their time together in Dorne had brought them close.

"Where is Lady Ashara," she asked Alerie Blackmont as they took their seats at the breakfast table. Elia was at the head, Rhaenys was seated beside her on a raised chair, while a spot was saved for Ashara on her left.

"I don't know," Alerie shrugged. "I didn't see her either this morning."

"That's because you sleep like a cow," said Falyse Stokeworth without any subtlety whatsoever, as Elia was tying a napkin around Rhaenys's neck. It had taken Elia some time to remember their names. Alerie Blackmont with dusky skin and tall stature, Falyse with a pinched face and blonde hair, and the others. "You should see her Princess," Falyse addressed Elia. "She's always the last one to wake up." Falyse broke into simmering yet mean laughter, and many joined in. Rhaenys heard them and started her own squeals of delight in mimicry. Elia didn't like that at all.

"What is so wrong with that? She's here in time isn't she," Elia said to put out the shallow mirth. That was how it was amongst them, Falyse Stokeworth was the leader of the Crownlanders, while Alerie Blackmont represented the Dornish. Elia was bored to tears of this rivalry. Her eyes went to Falyse's right side, where her younger sister Lollys was sitting quietly, like a plump scared little thing that she was. _One of these days I mean to do something for her._

Falyse struggled to come up with a reply. "You should see her your grace. The way she snores."

"I don't snore," Alerie chided. "I have never snored in my life. Know your place Stokeworth!"

"Why you.."

Elia had had enough. " _Enough,"_ She said sharply, and the young ladies quieted down. "You all are unbelievable. I had asked a simple enough question. Can someone tell me about the whereabouts of Lady Dayne?"

"Who knows," Myla Toland, another Dornishwoman of seventeen years, said. "May be she is with Ser Myles. Perhaps he did win her over after all." The girls around her giggled. It was common knowledge that the young knight of House Velaryon desired Ashara. _They all desire her. T_ his one was different though, or so it had appeared to everyone. Elia knew better.

They loaded their dishes with food; porridge and milk with honey, fruit, boiled eggs and fish. Elia mashed up some fruit and eggs for Rhaenys. Her milk teeth were yet to grow out fully, so hard food was out of question for her.

A while later Ashara finally appeared at the door. Elia couldn't help but marvel at the young Lady Dayne as she walked towards them, beautiful and graceful as ever. She was fully dressed and groomed, wearing a violet gown that brought out her eyes.

"Where had you been," Alerie Blackmont asked sweetly. "Our Princess was looking for you everywhere."

"Was she now," Ashara asked as she walked towards them. "I am not that late." She played with Rhaenys's hair as she passed by, walking around Elia to sit on her left.

"Well you _are_ never late, in general," Alerie's voice was dangerously sweet. Almost everyone was listening intently, except Elia who was rolling her eyes. "And clearly you have been out of Maegor's Holdfast. Your shoes are all dirty." Elia looked down at Ashara's shoes. Except for some tiny specks of dirt she didn't see anything wrong. "Perhaps," Alerie continued, "you were late because someone special took your... _time?_ "

Ashara raised an eyebrow, but then her eyes sparked in mischief. "Why yes," she said cheerfully. "My brother."

" _Your brother?"_ Alerie sputtered.

"Yes sweet Alerie," Ashara's replied jauntily. "I got a raven scroll from him this morning. He is in Harrenhal remember? He sent a letter from there to me along with one addressed to the Prince."

"How sweet of him," Elia said as she fed Rhaenys some blood orange. "And here Doran writes to me only when his maester reminds him to."

"He does have an expensive wife, Prince Doran," Celia Fowler said. "One can't blame him."

Elia gave her a look, and the girl blushed and rescinded. "What did brave Ser Arthur write?"

"Mostly about himself," Ashara's voice turned whimsical as she started placing food on her plate. "How safe his journey was, how _tall_ the towers of Harrenhal rise up in the sky, how _beautiful_ the women in the Riverlands are, and how lovely the realm looks during early spring." A look of mischief again passed through her face. She fixed her gaze down at her plate and added as indifferently as she could. "Oh,and I almost forgot, there is going to be a great tourney in Harrenhal."

" _What!?_ " A collective shout came from around the table. Ashara looked up from her breakfast. "What," she asked sweetly.

Elia almost laughed out loud. She of course herself knew all about it, Rhaegar had decided this in her presence, together with his trusted Kingsguard, one of the things he had chosen to share with her. The great tourney would serve as a front where he'd talk to all the great lords about the madness of her goodfather, and devise a plan for the future.

"What tourney," Jenny Rosby asked.

"Oh that!" Ashara exclaimed. "Lord Whent has decided to organise a tourney, to show how prosperous his house has become in the last twenty years since he received the late King's favor. All the Lords and knights of the Seven Kingdoms have been invited. It'd be quite an event."

The eyes of the girls lit up. "Will we be allowed to go," they asked Elia.

"I don't see why not," Elia replied. "I will have to thank Lord Walter, his one event will get you all married or betrothed, and out of my hair." The girls looked around nervously.

They had finished their breakfast when Elia heard footsteps behind her. She turned to find the seasoned face of Ser Barristan Selmy.

" _Ser Barristan_ ," Lady Ashara greeted before anyone else. "How are you this morning?"

The knight smiled a thin yet genuine smile. "I am fine, Lady Ashara." His face turned to Elia. "Pardon Princess, for interrupting your breakfast, but we can't seem to find Prince Rhaegar anywhere. Perhaps you know where he is."

"I don't," Elia answered. "Isn't the breakfast for the Lords served in the Small Council chambers?"

"He was there at breakfast," he spoke in a measured tone, "but he left soon after, and the King started asking for him out of nowhere. Perhaps his new spymaster whispered something in his ear, about the Prince, after which he became impatient." The knight grimaced, and Elia shared his emotion. Varys the Eunuch had that vibe around him, which the honest men and women seldom liked. The word 'impatient' was obviously a euphemism. "The Kingsguard have been asked to look for him in the castle. We looked for him everywhere, even here in Maegor's Holdfast, except for.."

"Our bedchamber," Elia completed his statement. Knights of the Kingsguard refrained from going there unescorted. "I will go check on him for you. Alyssa," she called the young Lady Ryker, "keep an eye on Rhaenys for me." The girl agreed whole-heartedly, delighted on being recognised. Elia started walking away.

"I can come with you Princess," said the knight, apologetic about making Elia get up from her cozy seat. "It is no trouble. Ser Jonothor Darry is guarding the moat."

"Oh no I insist," Elia said. "Let me go see. Lady Ashara will keep you company."

"Why of course I will," Ashara got up from her chair with a bright look.

Elia smiled as she walked away from the table. It was endearing to see those two with each other. They both could never be together, with Ser Barristan being a knight of the Kingsguard. _But I am sure they both understand that. Vows can't be broken for the whims of the heart._

Elia and Rhaegar's bedchamber was on the top floor top of a two storeyed tower, on the eastern side of Maegor's Holdfast. On the first floor there were the servant's quarters and the nursery. To get to the floors one had to climb a winding staircase which opened at sides on the two floors. Elia lifted her skirts as she started climbing the stairs. She heard voices from the first floor. The servants were still in their chamber apparently.

But as she climbed more stairs she realized that the voices were coming out of the nursery. There were two persons, speaking to each other, and one of them was Rhaegar. _What in the name of Seven?_ She moved closer, to get a better listen.

"I still don't feel sure. Are you certain no one can hear us here," said the unknown voice, a deep male voice flavored with Eastern accent.

"Yes," said Rhaegar. "No one spies on babies. Tell me what else you want to say.."

There was a pause in which Elia heard pacing. "The _company_ is getting impatient," said the foreign voice.

"You all can be as impatient as you want. I don't care," Rhaegar replied in the iron tone he was known for. "We have only had one and a half months of spring, and you are already losing it. Is your _company_ a bunch of willful children? Is your Lady going soft?"

"There is nothing wrong with Lady Rhaenyra," the other man said with newfound anger. "She is well, and strong, but we are not so sure about you. We want to know what you are doing my Prince," the man asked, his voice turning disfainful with each word. Elia moved closer on the winding stairs. "A _tourney? A_ _bloody tourney_? A game where a bunch of boys swat each other with _sticks_."

"That _game_ will bring in all the lords of Westeros," said Rhaegar. "That is a good start."

 _"If_ you are planning to poison them that is," the man rasped. "But I know you are too soft for that. The _Lords_ are _not_ to be trusted. Don't you know anything? They are leaches, you hear me, _leaches_. And if you think you can get them on your side, then you are as big a fool as.."

The man was interrupted by a savage blow from Rhaegar. Elia's eyes widened in shock when she heard the impact and she almost burst into the room. The foreigner grunted and stumbled backwards. "Talk to me _that_ way again, _go on_ ," Rhaegar hissed in a voice that made her blanch even more. For a moment she couldn't recognize her own husband. He had lost all of its characteristic warmth, and sounded more like a totally different man, a very hard man. "This is my roof, and you will show me respect."

The man spat out blood. "Why yes Prince Rhaegar," he said. "But know this, I will not let you forget this insult."

"Good. I _want_ that you don't forget this," Rhaegar pushed with gritted teeth. "Lemmings like you should know their place. Anything else, or do you want to _scurry_ back to your burrow?"

"What am I to tell them," he asked. "My lady wants to know in full. What are your plans?"

"Tell Rhaenyra," Rhaegar said, "that I share the same goals as she does, as you and all the rest of her followers do. But we can't go too much against the order in place. Destruction of lordly powers would mean chaos; and too much chaos brings death. Death is already in store for us when the Long Night comes. Until we get the Prince who was Promised, and our course becomes clearer, we can't make a move."

"And how are we supposed to get the _Prince who was Promised_ ," the man asked. "Your Dornish wife almost died when she whelped your daughter. Can she survive another childbirth?" Elia's eyes widened.

Another savage blow, and this time she heard the man fall backwards and land on the crib. " _Know...your...place,_ " Rhaegar growled with the anger of a dragon. "One more word about my family, and I'll have you thrown into the sea. _Get out of my sight_!"

Before Elia could move the man walked out of the room, a grizzled man dressed like a common servant sworn to House Targaryen, with a painfully swollen jaw. He paused to give her a look, and walked downstairs, doning a scarf to hide his jaw.

Rhaegar was storming out angrily, but finding Elia outside the door made him stop. Her angry eyes burned into him as he stood there, stunned and grounded to the spot.

"The King is looking for you," Elia said, and descended the winding stairs.


	3. Wintertown Lyanna I

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The white raven had flapped its wings in the Maester's rookery about two months ago. Following the cue the Northmen had accepted the Southron declaration of change of season, as they had done always. But what did the South know of winter, of _real_ winter? The Starks of Winterfell professed to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, but the North's way was different, had always been.

Wintertown had woken up to fresh snow in the morning, three or so inches deep. Impressive for _springtime,_ but nowhere near enough to scare a Northerner. Men and women had scoffed at the poor show and moved out to duty. Once they were out of the house they were greeted to Wintertown, a town of a thousand scattered houses and guilds, located south east of Winterfell, the ancestral home of House Stark. Gone was the ragtag hamlet that had existed here twenty years ago when the Waywatchers had arrived, the group of Southron reformers who had been banished from their homes. A _real '_ town' had grown around it as more people came and settled around haphazardly. A visitor from Oldtown or Pentos would gape at the disorder of the town with its mushroom like houses and unplanned streets. But soon enough he'd come to marvel this eccentricity, the order the inhabitants seemed to find in this chaos, the life that existed and ran through the disorganized streets, and most importantly the _change_ this nascent town was pumping into the North and the world as a whole. A new world awaited them all, and the North will lead the way.

A mosaic of chatter ran through the snowy Wintertown streets. More people were moving in everyday, making the chaos ever present. The city order was looked after by the _WolfWatch_ , the small Citywatch of Wintertown banded together by Lord Rickard. They were a bunch of misfits wearing grey hoods and grey cloaks, but organized and supervised well by the Waywatchers. Called the 'Greycloaks' by the commoners, they could be seen dotted all over the town, looking out for trouble and stopping it in the bud.

One such trouble was brewing up near the middle of the town, at the baker's shop near the street's turn. A young yet grizzled woman clad in dirty roughspun attire was having a disagreement with two Greycloaks, while some locals looked on with curiosity.

"What is _wrong_ with you woman," said Ervin the Greycloak. "Were you born yesterday? You can't just take stuff from the shop. You gotta pay for it."

"I am hungry! And he has enough bread to feed a village," said the woman, her willowy figure defiant. "I heard people get what they want in this place."

"Oh _yeah_ ," scoffed Emmet the other Greycloak. "It doesn't work that way. Cmon, off you come to the common house.." his arm moved to guide the woman to the 'common house', a building for new refugees.

The woman flinched from the arm. "Touch me and I'll cut your balls off," she hissed with fiery eyes, and Emmet paled. "I want.."

"What do you _want,_ _woman_ ," Ervin drawled, who seemed to have had enough. "You want to steal things from the honest people here," he pointed at the affronted breadmaker, "and you don't want to go to common house. I say we don't want _you_ here." Ervin unsheathed his sword. "I say you go back where you came from. You are nothing but trouble."

"NOO," she wailed and jerked away hard from the sword. Her defiance act had vanished the moment the steel was drawn, to reveal a very frightened woman. A little girl had been hiding behind her skirts, and on seeing the sword she came out from behind, glaring at the guard. The woman lifted up the girl, as if to prevent her from doing something. "I can't go outside," she pleaded. "Please! There are those men there."

"What _men_ ," asked Ervin.

"Then go to the common house," said Emmet, his voice soft after seeing the girl.

"There...there are people there as well," the woman was close to tears. "I can't go..."

" _What is going on here,"_ a voice came from behind and cut through everything, cool and firm. Everyone turned their heads. the Greycloaks, the woman, and all the others, to look towards the source.

A tall young Lady on horseback was looking at them from the street's turn. Two other horsemen stood there flanking her. One was dressed in a homely garb while other was dressed much more handsomely, both members of the _Waywatchers_. The Lady was clad in grey as well, long grey doublet and woolen riding breaches. A heavy fur cloak rested on her shoulders, held by a brooch emblazoned with a snarling direwolf, the sigil of the overlords. Instantly everyone's heads bowed down, except for the woman who was still clutching the child.

"Lady Lyanna," everyone chorused.

"Stay here," Lya said to Horas and Damen on her sides. She dismounted and walked forward, taking note of the scene in front of her. A frightened woman and child, a bunch of curious watchers, an angry baker, and two armed watchmen, one with an unsheathed sword. Her gaze stayed on the armed man. "Care to tell me what you are doing," she asked.

"Ervin at your service, m'lady," the watchman said and bowed his head. "We heard of some trouble here. This woman was trying to snatch bread and pies from the cook here. We were just dealing with her."

"Dealing with her how," she pointed at his unsheathed weapon. "Since when has the Wolfwatch started to threaten defenseless women with swords?"

He flushed. "Pardon, m'lady, but the woman, she was stealing. She is stubborn, and insolent..."

Lya gestured him to be quiet. Her gaze turned to the woman. She appeared to be the same age as Lya, but her face looked old beyond her age. A child was clutched at her bosom, a frail girl of five or six. Her blonde hair were tied into a single braid like the woman's own blonde braid, and Lya's brown one. The fear in her eyes troubled Lya.

"Is this your child," she asked the woman, keeping her voice firm yet gentle.

"She's my sister, lady," the woman uttered, tears swimming in her grey eyes. _Northern eyes._ "Do you have a name," Lya asked.

"I am called Dalla, lady," she said.

Lya moved closer. She could almost hear Horas protesting from behind, but Lya moved anyway. Dalla and the child were looking at her with wariness. "And what is her name," she gestured towards the girl.

"Val," the girl said, timid as a mouse. "I am called Val, lady."

Lya smiled at Val. "Where do you both come from," she asked.

The woman hesitated. "North of here. The..mountains."

 _Hill tribes, again._ "Why did you not follow the Watchmen to the common house?"

"I ...can't go there," Dalla said. She was frightened, her face hiding a thousand insecurities.

"Why not," asked Lya.

"Too many...," the woman struggled to answer. "Too crowded..I..I can't.."

Lya took a decision. "Come with me then," she said.

Dalla looked at her in puzzlement. "Lady?"

"Come with me," Lya repeated. "We have promised refuge to all who come here. You came here seeking safety didn't you?" With care she offered her leather clad hand to Dalla, which she took hesitantly. Some of the fear fled Dalla's eyes, and the swimming tears were allowed to run down. "Go back to your work," Lya roughed up her voice and called out to everyone. "She is under my protection." Everyone bowed their head and went back to work.

They walked to the street turn, Dalla keeping up with her with nimble steps. "Tell me truly," Lya said. "Are you running from someone?"

Dalla didn't answer. "I won't be able to help you unless you answer me," Lya pushed.

Dalla gulped. With care she placed Val back on the ground, taking hold of one of her hands. "We were coming to this place. I had heard in...my village that you get food and shelter here. On the way..," Dalla was frightened again. She glanced nervously at Val, who was looking back at them with hollow eyes.

 _A child shouldn't have that look on her face. "_ Damen," Lya called her faithful companion. "Take Val and buy her some sweet from the baker's, the very best one. Make sure she isn't hungry." Damen dismounted and walked up to them. Gingerly he offered a hand to Val.

" _No_ ," Dalla raised alarm and started moving back to clutch her sister.

"It is _fine_ ," Lya assured the woman. "He will pay for it. She is safe now. You _both_ are safe now! I promise you, on my honor." Dalla was still defiant. "Damen is one of the finest men I know," she added. "He is kind and good, and is sworn to my family. He is taking her to the baker right there," she pointed towards the shop from where Dalla had tried to steal. "They won't be out of sight."

"I will keep her safe I promise," Damen smiled his best smile. The compliments Lya had given him had made him blush. "On my honor as a Waywatcher. We live to serve the realm."

When Dalla relented Damen took Val's hand gently and walked her towards the Baker's. The child was hungry despite everything and she went with him. When they were safely away Lya gestured Dalla to sit on a nearby empty bench. "Go on," Lya said kindly, dreading what she was about to hear.

Dalla's lips were pressed tight. "We were following the road," she said. "We didn't find a roof and were caught out in the open at night, so we thought of resting near the Wolfswood. What choice did we have? But there were some m..men, they found us. We..were taken. They didn't steal me! We were just taken! They picked us up like sheep and carried us to the forests. They….took me,"

Lya's throat went dry. More tears appeared in the Dalla's eyes. "They took me and m..made her watch," she recalled in anguish. "She screamed and cried...as I did. I don't think she even understood what was happening. I saw her face, how scared she was. But I couldn't ...help her." Dalla hid her face under her palms. "They were planning to keep us with them," she said. "They wanted to...wait till she grows up and keep her with them, and me. We.. were there for two nights," Dalla seemed to have run out of words.

"You escaped," Lya finished the horror for Dalla but Dalla was past caring. Her face was still buried in her palms, refusing to show or look up at anyone. It was a pitiful sight, and without thinking Lya pulled Dalla into an embrace. And just like that _the_ Lady Lyanna was embracing a common peasant out in the open. Many stared, but Lya paid them no mind. "I don't care how, but you escaped. It is all behind you," Lya consoled. Dalla's clothes smelled awful, and her tears were soaking Lya's cloak and doublet, but Lya held on to her. "You are safe now," Lya whispered into her ear. "No one will harm you now Dalla. I promise." In response Dalla flung her arms around Lya and hugged her even tighter, and Lya was again assaulted by the awful stench of Dalla's clothes, but she let Dalla hold her.

"Where did this happen," Lya asked when Dalla had pulled away.

"S..some leagues to the north west," she sniffed, rubbing her red eyes.

Lya bristled. _How did this happen so close to us? What have the Watchers been doing?_ "I will talk to my father, and have men sent there. _Justice_ will be done." said Lya. Dalla didn't say anything, she just gave her a grateful look.

Damen returned with Val soon. The child was munching hungrily at a pastry and her lips were caked with red filling. The sight was so silly, silly and refreshing. "This is for you woman," Damen produced some bread and gave it to Dalla. She took it hungrily and devoured it in a few bites, crumbs flying around on the street.

"Thank you Damen," Lya addressed her companion. "I want to trouble you with two more tasks."

"Name them my lady," Damen said eagerly, clasping an arm across his doublet emblazoned with the white wolf, the symbol of the Waywatchers.

"Find a horse, a gentle one, for our guests; then go to the common house and fetch Maggy."

"The septa, my lady?"

 _Not a septa anymore. A Waywatcher. "_ Aye fetch her. She had left for the common house in the morning. I want her here now."

Lya felt Horas's eyes watching her. She turned to Dalla. "You..you can't just take things from people. You aren't among the hilltribes anymore. In Wintertown we trade things. If you want something you need to give something for it."

"But I don't have anything," Dalla said.

"Everyone has something," said Lya. "Most people around you, they had little when they came. But they worked here and earned their keep. And today they are content and are growing stronger everyday. People here are stonemasons, farmers, blacksmiths, maesters, cooks, even artists and scholars from the South and the East. They trade their skills and wares for their necessities." Lya paused. "Do you have any skill Dalla?"

Dalla was afraid again. "I..I can sing well, Lady," she said.

Lya gave her an encouraging look. "That can work. How good are you?"

"I was the best in my village, lady." Dalla all but proclaimed, and some of the color returned to her face. Lya felt herself smile widely.

"I can see that," said Lya. "Your voice does have a certain..melody to it." A shy smile bloomed on Dalla's face. "We are having a feast tonight," Lya added. "Many lords have come to Winterfell to celebrate the arrival of spring, and for other duller things. If you want, I can arrange for you to sing in front of the Lords."

Dalla's eyes widened. "The _Lords?"_

"And Ladies," Lya said, "and Children, and the other people as well. I also would love to hear you sing. If you do well then you can earn your keep easily. We always have had very few singers in Winterfell."

"I...will think on it, lady," said Dalla. Lya heard horse hooves from her side. Damen had arrived along with a lone horse and Maggy riding beside him. She was a hard lean woman of five and twenty, twice widowed, once a septa in the South, and now serving Winterfell as a Waywatcher. _Damen must have filled her in about the situation_. "Lady Stark," Maggy called from her horse in all her swagger. "Missing me already?"

"Keeping you away is hard Maggy," Lya replied back. "You are _such_ a resourceful person."

"How may I serve?"

"Dalla and Val here are under my protection." Lya gestured towards them. "Escort them to the Servant's Keep. Help them get freshened up and introduce them to the other women, the kind ones, not the mean ones. Some new clothes would be good."

"Sure," said Maggy. "It is not as if I have better things to do."

"Much appreciated," said Lya with a smile. She turned to Dalla. "Go with Maggy. She may appear rude, but she has a heart of gold."

"Why thank you Lady Stark," Maggy scoffed as Dalla and Val were mounting their horse. "Come on love. Off you come with the rude woman."

"With a _heart of gold_ remember," Lya called back with a chuckle. "Damen go with them," she told her companion. "Some people in the Keep may need some persuading. Tell them _who_ sent Dalla to the castle." Damen nodded and left with them.

Dalla gave Lya one last look before riding off to Winterfell, her eyes grateful and trusting as a doe. Lya's eyes left them only when they rounded the street's turn. She sat down on the bench when they were no longer in sight, her gaze lowered at the unpaved street.

From the corner of her eye Lya saw Horas dismounting and approaching her with measured steps. He sat down beside her. "That was a good thing you did," he spoke, "but just a warning Lya. We can't take too many smallfolk inside the castle. Everyone will want in if it goes like this. Lord Stark may also not like it. We are full already."

Lya bristled with anger as she looked at Horas. "Don't you think I know that," she said. "What would you have had me do? You heard what happened to her. She was scared half to death of staying in a place crowded with men."

Horas didn't speak more about it. "You still want to go," he asked instead. That was when she remembered the reason she had come out in Wintertown, the same reason she used to come here once every month. Her spirits fell, but Lya stood up. "Let's go," she said, choosing to be brave.

Horas helped her mount her horse and she thanked him for it. It was very easy for him given his tall stature. Horas was the son of Master Addam, the head of the _Waywatchers,_ one of those who had come from the South twenty years ago. Lya's older brothers were mostly away and Benjen was too young; and in their place Horas had been Lya's constant companion and a trusted friend, for as long as she could remember. They were both fourteen when autumn had ended and had been of the same height. Everyone thought that Horas would remain short like his father. But winter saw him grow tall, taller than all the boys in Wintefell, even Brandon. Now he stood at six feet and four inches tall, a little more than half a foot taller than Lya.

Together they made their way to their destination. "This has been an eventful morning hasn't it," Horas tried to lighten the mood. "Breaking fast with the whole grumpy nobility of the North, all buzzing away angrily, and now this."

"You don't know the half of it," Lya said. It had been eventful indeed, not that Horas would know what she had in mind. Lya had dreamed again last night, the same vision-like dreams that showed her fantastical things, that always jolted her awake with fear, and tingling excitement. _Bleeding stars, Ice and Fire mingling, a kiss by the lakeside, NO!_ Lya pushed the visions aside. She had decided that she wouldn't think about them, no matter how frequently they come, no matter how hard it becomes.

"I do know things, you know," said Horas, his handsome face playful. "I did see Roose Bolton making eyes at you at breakfast. That was quiet unappetizing to watch." He snorted.

"He wasn't making eyes at me!" Lya exclaimed loudly, and for a moment she forgot about her woes. "That is just how he talks to everyone! I think he is uptight."

"I doubt it," said Horas. "Believe it or not, but he gives me the creeps. You must know that _his lordship_ asked for your hand in marriage yesterday, in exchange for Dreadfort adopting the _North's Way._ That didn't go anywhere, obviously."

"I do," Lya nodded. "But from what I saw he was civil enough about it. Had it been an Umber in his place then he'd have flung things and shouted hoarse for hours." Lya couldn't help but smile as she remembered the boisterous Jon Umber. "It might be quite amusing actually, except that it'd be us who would have to clean after him."

"Hah," Horas smirked. "But Bolton had to be civil. Who wouldn't be? When your rival is Robert Baratheon the wise thing to do is to smile and bow out," Horas chuckled, and Lya smile faltered. "He fell in line soon enough, Father told me. Nothing to worry on that matter."

"You concern for me is touching," Lya teased and he made a face. She knew Horas was trying to distract her, and she was grateful for it. They rounded another corner, moving past factories where Northern goods sourced from all over the North were being loaded in carts, to be deported to White Harbor for shipping.

"Boltons and Starks have married in the past," Lya chose to keep talking. "So the proposal wasn't as...outrageous, as many seem to believe. This isn't the Age of Heroes." They were nearing their destination, which was making Lya more uneasy. Talking with Horas wasn't doing enough to distract her from the dread, and the shame.

Horas looked at her oddly. "But a Bolton marriage proposal can't even compare to an alliance with Storm's End. Also, Lord _Creepiness_ has a son, from his first wife."

"True," Lya replied. "He _has_ to adopt the _Way_ some day, or the peasants will keep fleeing the Bolton lands." Finally their destination came into view, a strong stone and brick house built on Lya's orders, to house a family of four. _Once_ _five,_ Lya remembered, and shame bubbled up once again. Her shaking hands tightened around the reins. She looked at Horas, whose square jaw was stiff as he looked ahead. _He feels bad too, despite it not being his doing._

The onlookers' gaze was on them when she knocked on the thin plank door. "Who's there," a woman's alarmed voice came from inside.

"It's Lyanna," Lya almost whispered.

Some shuffling, clattering of utensils, and the door opened. Uma's mousy hair had loosened from her braid and were sticking out. Her face was unnerved, as it always was whenever Lya visited her.

"M'lady," the much older woman stuttered and bowed her head; Lya felt shame rushing up her throat.

"How..how are you," Lya asked.

"I am good. The Gods are good," she said. "My boys are stronger than ever. Thank you for everything m'lady."

"You don't need to thank me," Lya said. "How ...how is Alyn?" Uma and Alyn were man and wife, married with two children, boys of seven and nine. Lya couldn't recall their names. That made her even sadder, but she kept a straight face.

"He..his legs still hurt, m'lady," Uma said. "But he is strong. He is out helping in the fields."

"That is good," Lya said. "And how is Mel?" Mel was Uma's younger sister, a woman of seventeen, eight years junior to Uma.

"She is happy. Her husband treats her well."

"If you need anything, I am always here for you," Lya said, like she always used to say whenever she visited. She reached in one of her pockets, and produced a small pouch, containing two silver stags. "This is for you," she offered the pouch to Uma.

Uma's mouth opened and closed. With shaking hands she took the pouch. "Thank you m'lady," she said, and bowed.

It was all Lya could do to not scream. _Must you always shame me woman?_ _I ruined your life. You don't get to bow to me!_ Lya rushed back to her horse, Horas following in earnest.

The journey back was a blur for Lya. She rode in silence. Horas gave her sideways glance at times, but apart from that he chose to stay quiet. They were halfway back to the castle when he finally spoke.

"You don't need to come here Lya," he said. "From now on just send me, or some other person. Damen is always eager to please, send him instead."

Lya looked at Horas. "I am a Northerner Horas," she replied. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"This isn't an execution."

" _No_ it isn't, I know," Lya retorted. "Don't you understand? The saying isn't about executions. It is about something more, about not hiding from yourself and your deeds, knowing and having the courage to face the results, no matter what. _That_ is the Northern way. The _Stark_ way." Their ride came to a halt. An apple merchant had toppled his basket in the way ahead and his stock had spilled all over the street. They both stopped to not trample them while he picked them up. "What I did four years ago.."

"You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault Lya," Horas interrupted her.

"What _I_ did," Lya pushed, "costed that family so much. If I don't face my deeds and just forget them then I am no better than a perfumed Southerner. I must remember that, and what I did to them. I must!"

"You weren't alone Lyanna," Horas said. "I was there too. You can't judge yourself guilty forever. You don't need to...be sad always."

"What, are you saying I need to _smile_ more? " Lya scoffed with a bitter taste in her mouth. "Do you know, Robert Baratheon beds _whores_. He has been at it since the day he became a man. He already has a bastard daughter, begotten from one of his brothel women. Ned knows it, even father knows it! Yet they are pushing the match on me all the same." Horas was stunned to silence. The apple seller was still picking up his apples, throwing apologetic glances and nervous grins at them. "Some say that it is for the better. A man should know his way around in the marriage bed they say." Lya almost spat. "He might be _fucking_ away in a brothel even now as we speak. Makes me _sick_!"

"He might change once you get married."

"Ned said the same thing," said Lya. "He said that Robert is already half in love with you. All he knows of me is that I please his eyes, and he says he _loves_ me!"

"You can reject it."

"Can I," Lya threw back. "You said so yourself. House Stark needs the support of the Stormlands."

"You need _happiness_ in your life Lya."

"Look around you Horas," Lya said. "Look at Dalla and her sister, think of Uma and her family, her husband and good brother, what happened to them. Those people work hard everyday to make ends meet. For them happiness is a full stomach and a warm bed, and protection from tyrant lords, something we take for granted. There's still a chance that Robert would turn good after we wed, and if not," Lya hesitated, "then I wouldn't be the first woman who isn't happily married. It will be for the good of everyone."

"Lya..."

She didn't listen to him. The path had been cleared so she rushed forward, eager to end the conversation. Memories appeared in front of her eyes. _Clubs beating down. Women screaming, children crying._ Lya shook her head. She kept riding, her gaze stiffly on the way ahead.

Lya went past the gates of Winterfell and headed for the stables. Many lords and nobles turned towards her in anticipation of a greeting, but Lya rushed past them. When she was finally in her chamber she threw off the heavy grey cloak and the Stark brooch and fell backwards on her bed. _It is time to shrug this off,_ she told herself, _I am expected downstairs in an hour_. She could go to the armory and practice her incipient sword skills with Horas or the other Waywatchers. She could go to the tourney grounds to ride freely; _that_ always made made her feel truly alive. She could even go and watch the other women knit clothes, and even practice some with them. But her legs refused to move, so down she stayed.

Lya pushed the memories, but her stupid mind went from one unsettling thing to the other one. _Ice and fire meeting, Ice and fire fighting, kiss by the lakeside, battle by the riverside, a baby born in storm, another in the sun. NO!_ Lya shouted out loud. _I won't think of this. I can't._

Lya had long ago made peace with the fact that she wouldn't marry for love. It'd be a political match, to further the interests of her family. Yet out of all the young lords of Westeros she was set up with Robert _fucking_ Baratheon, and was told of it weeks after after it was finalised, on a cold sleety day in the third year of winter when Ned had visited from the Vale, arriving laden with fur and snow alongwith with some Eastern tradesmen. She had hated her father and brother that day, and might have hurt them or worse had Brandon not stopped her. Was it too much to ask for a good man as a husband, even if she was living a far better life than most people on the world, warm and content? Like every little girl she also had once dreamed of a handsome man who'd take her far away and they'd live happily in a beautiful castle. The dream had faded with age, but the desire had remained her even after all the things that had happened. The desire for a faithful companion, and a happy life.

The only dreams that remained with her and visited her often, also seemed to agree with her, in their own different way. They were grand, fantastical, _seductive._ They were hardly comprehensible, but one message screamed at her right through their inexplicity. _You are not meant for a regular life of marrying and furthering interests,_ they seemed to say. _There are far bigger things in the world than you know, beyond the comprehension of the common men and women. You are and have always been, meant for the greater things._

* * *

" _My lords,"_ Lord Rickard Stark stood up from his seat at the the centre of the concave table on the dais. " _My ladies! Waywatchers, merchants, scholars, servants,"_ he addressed them all. "Before we begin this splendid spring feast and lose our senses to good food and ale, there are some thing we need to know and get past."

The hall was lit with all the candles in Winterfell. The Northern banners adorned the wall behind the dais. The grey direwolf of Stark was highest of them all. Below it came the Houses who had come to accept and implement the North's way, then all the rest. Maester Walys had protested against this segregation, but Lord Rickard had listened to the advice of _Master_ Addam of the Waywatchers instead. _Master and Maester, they both hold much sway here._

Lya watched as every head in front of her turned towards her father, eagerness clear in their eyes. Everyone wanted to know what was discussed in the last two days amongst the Lords and the Waywatchers. Everything had all been garbed in black secrecy, and now it was the moment of reveal. Also, Lord Rickard Stark was a popular lord and a splendid speaker. Whenever he spoke everyone listened.

"When autumn had ended four years ago," said father, his voice amicable, "the _North's way_ had been strong, thanks to our friends of Waywatchers here." Father pointed towards them on the table, "It took into its fold many people and enabled them to become better, and in the process made our beloved Kingdom _stronger_ , and also the Starks very rich." People laughed at the remark, and father laughed with them. "Many noble houses helped us Starks in these endeavors. First came Lord Manderly, bless him. He helped us make pacts with the Free Cities and the Vale, to help us sell our things there! Then Lord Flint, Lord Cerwyn, the Late Lord Hornwood and the Late Lord Tallhart of Torrhen's Square. But that was a long time ago," Father smiled,"and if one is honest to himself then the passing time always brings progress. I am pleased to announce that in the past two days our family has grown. First, House Ryswell of the Rills has accepted the North's Way."

A round of cheer went through the hall and Lord Ryswell beamed from his seat. "You all know what that means my friends," said father. "Lots of horses will be sent to Wintertown, so get ready to shovel some dung." Laughter rippled through the hall again.

"Next, we have the House Glover of Deepwood Motte, who have accepted our ways. They will be getting supplies and advisers from Wintertown, to set up trade and to improve farming. They'll soon grow richer and abler, a valuable member of our family. The people of Deepwood Motte can be very rich! They have iron and ore to give to the world, and not to mention, the brew of Deepwood Motte is strong and deep, hope the world is ready for it!"

Another cheer erupted from the Hall. "And lastly," said Lord Rickard. "My kin at Karhold, they have decided to come into the fold as well!"

 _So House Dustin and House Bolton remain out even this time then,_ Lya noted. Also, House Ryswell had joined and the Boltons had refused. Had Father managed to break their long held alliance? She turned to look at Roose Bolton. His lips were curled into a thin smile as he was watching her father with his pale white eyes.

"House Karstark will be provided silver to build a better port, so they can trade better. Sun of Winter will grow stronger, and the North with it!"

People cheered again. Lya looked at Roose again, and found that he had been looking at her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back in a way that made Lya uneasy. _Horas was right. That man is creepy._ Was Roose Bolton really after her hand in marriage, in exchange for coming into the fold?

"And finally," said Lord Rickard. "A different news, from the South! This morning I received a raven from Harrenhal. Lord Walter Whent there is to organize a great tourney in two months. So better start preparing if you want to go. Maester Walys will provide more details on that regard." Another cheer arose, followed by frenzied gossip.

"So," said Lord Rickard. "Now that we are done with this busy work, it is time for some softer activities. We Northerners are always short of singers, having to resort to our own bawdy roarings while being in our cups." Laughter ensued again. "Luckily today, my daughter has found and welcomed to my castle, a singer."

The side door opened, and in walked Dalla. A bath and grooming had done wonders on her, and now she looked very nice. The fears and insecurities seemed to have been tucked behind, making her look wise, wiser than most.

"Dalla here, has a voice sweeter than the honeyed wine from the Reach," father announced. "Listen to her carefully friends, and marvel at the beautiful thing that life is."

Lya looked at the audience. There was Val sitting with other children at the front. While many had anticipative looks on their faces, some looked disappointed. _They wanted to hear 'Bear and the Maiden Fair' from a man, and to chorus loudly alongwith him._ Lya looked at Dalla. Her nervous eyes were already looking for Lya on the dais. Lya rose from her seat to let her know where she was. She gave her an approving nod and Dalla's nervousness faltered, and she closed her eyes to sing.

 _ **Oh, I am the last of the giants,**_

Lya's eyes widened, so did everyone else's. That voice, it was so pure, so haunting, so...wounded. Now Dalla had everyone's attention. Many leaned forward and walked to reach the dais to get a better listen. Dalla sang further,

 **Oh, I am the** _ **last**_ **of the giants,**

 **my people are gone from the earth.**

 **The last of the** _ **great**_ **mountain giants,**

 **who ruled all the world at my birth.**

 **The smallfolk have _stolen_ my forests,**

 **they've stolen my rivers and hills.**

 **They've built a great** _ **wall**_ **through my valleys,**

 **and fished all the fish from my rills.**

 **In** _ **stone**_ **halls they** _ **burn**_ **their great fires,**

 **in** _ **stone**_ **halls they** _ **forge**_ **their** _ **sharp**_ **spears.**

 **Whilst I walk** _ **alone**_ **in the mountains,**

 **with** _ **no**_ **true companion but tears.**

 **They hunt me with** _ **dogs**_ **in the daylight,**

 **they hunt me with torches by night.**

 **For men who are small, they can** _ **never**_ **stand tall,**

 **whilst giants still walk in the light.**

 **Ooooh, I am the** _ **LAST**_ **of the giants,**

 **so learn well the** _ **words**_ **of my song.**

 **For when I am** _ **gone**_ **all the singing will fade,**

 **and the silence shall last long and long.**

The song ended, but no one wanted it to. People were leaning dangerously forward, wanting to get more of the angelic voice. Lya was grounded to the spot, with tears in her eyes.

Dalla opened her eyes, and gave a shy miniature bow to the audience. The first one to react was her father. He rose from his seat and broke into a loud applause. Then the Lords and Waywatchers, and then all the rest. They rose from their seat and clapped loudly. Many cheered, but some were too numb to utter a sound.

Lya saw Dalla rushing out of the door. Lya took her leave and followed her.

"Where are you going," she called from behind. Dalla turned to face her.

"My work is done, lady," she said with a choked voice, but she was smiling.

"We still have the feast, remember? Do you mean to sleep hungry?"

"Lady..."

"No one sleeps hungry in Wintertown," Lya said. "Now come. I will seat you with some good friends of mine."

* * *

Lya had a satisfied look on her tired face as she turned in for the night. The day had ended on a very good note. Dalla had earned her place as a singer and had been assigned a room. _She can be happy again._ Father had already sent men to catch the rapers, or purge the area of wrong doers at the very least. Lya's promise was fulfiled. If there was hope for Dalla, perhaps there was hope for others as well, for the refugees who were coming to the town, and the rest, even her in finding happiness after marriage. With this thought she drifted off to sleep.

The happy thoughts didn't follow her in her sleep. The dreams returned and found her as the night grew deep, pulling her mind away from her home and cozy bed, separating her from her earthly surroundings. _An ice flake burned and mingled in with the raging Fire. A tall silver man kissed a woman by the lakeside. Dragons flew above a city, spewing hot fire everywhere. A white wall buckled under a storm from the North. Wintertown frozen in a long winter. A single black dragon plotting to burn the realm in red fire, and another black one trying to tame it from the West. The red dragon turned to look at her knowingly, and then he began to change. It twisted and changed into a human form, with fair skin, white hair and violet eyes. He was beautiful, looking at her with eyes full of love. The man faded away, to reveal new images. Suddenly she was flying, hurtling towards the North, beyond the Wall, far away from the realms of men into the Land of Always Winter. What she saw there made her scream and jolt violently._

Lyanna woke up with cold sweat on her brow.

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	4. Edmun II

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The training yard was abuzz with unruly clamor that evening. Martyn and Myles were going at it hard, circling and hacking at each other with their wooden swords. A bunch of watchers had gathered around them, most of them cheering for 'Martyn the Heir'. Edmun scoffed as he watched them from the gates of the armory as he knotted his bow. Myles seemed composed and focused on the job at hand, while Martyn's face was lit with stupid pride, as if the whole realm had come to watch him play with practice swords.

He didn't like this part of the day much, for in the evenings Edmun's cousins and companions would swarm the training yard to practise swords, leaving him behind. He had seen this fight before and he already knew that Martyn would win, despite him acting like a pig. Martyn was tall and strong, and stupidly good at swordplay; and for all of Edmun's other cousins's good-hearted efforts Myles wouldn't be able to best Martyn. Apart from Hoster and Lucas not many remained to challenge Martyn after that. The lowborns were too scared to fight the Heir, and Edmun was worse than most when it came to swords. 'Maidenhands,' Martyn had called him once after swatting away Edmun's sword from his hands. Everyone had laughed, and the Master-at-arms had looked at Edmun disapprovingly. Edmun had never practiced swords with Martyn after that.

When his bow and quiver were ready, he turned his back on the sword trainees and moved towards the targets. The crowd there was much thinner, mainly soldiers trying a bout of archery like him. There was a faint breeze that evening, changing directions at whim. Edmun exhaled and relaxed his shoulders as he nocked an arrow, taking a note of the breeze as he adjusted his aim. The loosened arrow whistled through the air and landed on the target, some inches south of bull's eye. Edmun cursed.

He nocked another one. _Archery is not passionate. It is cold, and calculating. A hotheaded person can never succeed in it._ With newfound inspiration Edmun shot the bow. The result was better this time, as he could see from yards away. Pleased, Edmun got ready for another one. He took his time before releasing, aiming for bull's eye. The arrow launched itself from his bow, and missed the target altogether.

"No! No! NOO!" Edmun shouted and threw the bow away which hit the floor with a sharp clatter. _It wasn't supposed to be this way,_ he thought. He hadn't missed the target for many months, yet the sight in front of him was a mockery to all his achievements so far. Shaking his head Edmun moved to pick up the bow, praying for the perfect shot this time.

"You are not doing it right lad," came a voice from behind. Edmun turned to see his father standing behind him, a tired smile on his face. "Your mind seems to be somewhere else."

"I always shoot it right. I have done it many times," Edmun said back as Father walked to him. "Why are you in the training yard father?"

"A man needs a break oftimes," replied father. He picked up Edmun's bow for him. "I thought coming to the training yard might be fun, watching my son as he practices." He smiled grimly. "I thought I'd find you over there with Martyn and the others practicing swordplay. I should've remembered that you prefer the bow."

Edmun hung his head. "I am no good at swords," he mumbled. "My hands, they just refuse to follow Ser Sylas's commands."

"You have told me that," Father said, not unkindly. "Look son, I don't want to force you into anything. You are wise you should understand it yourself." Edmun moved to take his bow, but Father kept it firmly in his hands. Edmun looked up at his father's face which had lost its faint smile. "I am the third son," Father's voice became stern. "And you are the son of the third son. Martyn would inherit everything, and to remain relevant you have to remain in his good books. No Son," Father interrupted his retort. "One of these days you have to understand how it is. You hear me? You have to be good at swords, no matter how much you loathe them. Knighthood comes from sword and lance, not arrows. No one sings any songs about bowmen." Father grimaced. "If you want to make something of yourself then you have to become a knight, and for that you must learn to fight with a sword. I won't always be here to support you, you have to become a man soon." He handed him the bow with a look.

Father walked away leaving Edmun alone with the stupid bow, crestfallen and ashamed. The winter blizzards howled inside his head again, and he shivered with unease. _Life isn't fair,_ he reminded himself. _Grandfather will leave everything to Uncle Douglas, and he'll leave everything to Martyn._ The Rock of Aegon the Fifth flashed in front of his eyes, lying abandoned beside a frigid lake. He remembered the Legion, defeated and routed by his grandfather for no crime.

To clear his mind he pulled another arrow from the quiver. That was all he could do, for he couldn't find it in himself to shoot. He threw away the bow again and strode towards the sword training yard with newfound zeal.

Hoster was getting ready to practice with Lucas, Martin's younger brother. At the moment _Martyn the Heir_ was basking in admiration of those fawning at him. "Very good my lord," said Ser Sylas, the Master of Arms. "That was in quite a fashion you bested Lord Myles. Lord Walter would be proud for sure. He should arrange for you to squire for a Great Lord. Lord Tully, or Lord Lannister perhaps."

"Why not the King himself," said another knight who had been watching the swordplay. Edmun walked to stand before them, but no one took note.

"The King is mad," Ser Sylas said. "Perhaps the Prince."

"Ser Sylas," Edmun said out loud. "I wish to practice."

Now everyone was looking at him. The smirk on Martyn's face made Edmun want to gouge out his eyes. "Lord Edmun," said Ser Sylas, "haven't seen you here in a while."

"I wish to train," he repeated.

"Do you remember your lessons," the knight asked.

Edmun looked him in the eye. "I do," he said. "I can fight."

The knight couldn't refuse of course. "Very well. Lord Hoster, why don't you come and practice with Lord Edmun here."

Hoster was both puzzled and annoyed. _Even he doesn't want to fight me._ Regardless, he obeyed. Edmun took up his practice sword and shield. They both took position and circled each other, looking for an opening.

 _Let him come to you,_ Edmun told himself. _When he does I will close the distance and knock the sword aside, and tackle him down._ Hoster finally advanced, and Edmun lunged; but Hoster spotted his move in time and backed away. Edmun lost balance and stumbled.

The laughter that followed was cruel to say the least, but Edmun didn't care. All he heard was Father's worried voice asking him to become worthy. This time he lunged and swung his sword. Hoster matched the blows with his own, his arms more wieldy than Edmun's own. He was looking at him with worry, Edmun realized.

Edmun moved to tackle him down. For a moment he thought that Hoster'd let him win, but his cousin sidestepped at the right moment and tripped him. With a yelp Edmun fell down defeated on the sand, his sword flying away in a loop.

He could hear the laughter from Martyn and his lackeys, and for a moment he refused to budge up. He closed his eyes in shame, rebuking the tears that were threatening to show. "You alright Edmun," Hoster's voice came from behind, not unkind. Edmun turned and got up, dusting the sand from his doublet.

"Once a _Maidenhands_ , always a _Maidenhands_ ," said Martyn and chortled. "Why do you even try Edmun. Go inside and cut up some onions. Kitchen knives suit you better than swords."

Edmun's spirits were down but he refused to take insults from his vile cousin. The Master at Arms was already rebuking Martyn. "Have some courtesy my lord," Ser Sylas said. "That is your cousin. Counsel him like an elder, don't mock him."

"Not kitchen knives," Edmun threw back. "Bows and arrows, they suit me better. Come have a match with me, let's see who wins."

Martyn bristled. He approached Edmun with heavy steps. Martyn was three years older than Edmun, with more muscle and some inches more height, yet Edmun returned his gaze all the same.

"Bows are coward's weapon," he replied. "Cowards and weaklings like you, who don't have the strength or honor to fight with swords, and choose to kill from a distance with treachery."

" _Coward_ you are calling me." Edmun replied. "Here you stand, bragging about winning against those you are already sure to beat; and you call _me_ a coward. Arrow or sword, you'd shit your breeches all the same when a real one comes at you."

Martyn's stupid face flushed with anger. He brought out his arms and pushed Edmun, and Edmun fell hard on the ground.

"That is enough my lords," the commanding voice of Ser Sylas rang through the twilight air. Martyn seemed to be thinking the same, for he had a very satisfied smirk on his face as he turned his back on Edmun. Edmun got up. "I think it fits," he called back. "Archery is for the smart, not for foolish brutes like you who push at those they can't beat."

Martyn turned at once and rushed him. Edmun did exactly what Hoster had done to him. He sidestepped and tripped the bigger boy down. Martyn fell face first into the sand.

The yard was silent as a graveyard. Martyn got up and spat out sand, and menaced towards Edmun. _Seven hells,_ Edmun couldn't help but cower. He started backing away.

"That is enough My lords!"

"Shut up!" Martyn rasped at the Master of Arms.

Edmun turned to run away, but his leg caught on something and he lost his balance, falling for the third time. Martyn turned him on his back, a look of mad glee on his face.

"Let's see who shits their breeches now," he said, and punched Edmun hard on the nose. Edmun winced as he felt blood filling his nostrils. Martyn's fist rose again, and took Edmun on the jaw this time. Edmun cried out in pain.

"Who are you going to call, little one, Mother or Father?" Martyn mocked. "Or maybe sister Milly?"

Edmun saw his fist rising again. _Not this time._ He spat hard at Martyn landing a big blob of blood laced spittle right between his eyes. The brute flinched and furiously wiped his face. Wanting to capitalize on the moment Edmun's hands rose to defend himself. He couldn't push Martyn off, and in a wild moment of desperation Edmun's hand moved to Martyn's groin. He caught what he felt there, and pressed hard.

Martyn's donkey like bellow of pain was heard throughout the yard. He launched himself away and fell backwards, whimpering and curling himself into a ball. Edmun rose up and spat out blood. He moved towards the curled up Martyn and with all his resentment and hurt kicked him in the back.

He felt arms around him. Edmun was being pulled away. "What in the seven hells are you doing," he heard the shout of Ser Agron. Edmun watched as people knelt around Martyn, helping him to rise up. Martyn didn't get up though, Edmun noted with satisfaction.

The main hall was ablaze with turmoil before dinner. Edmun watched as his father and his uncle Douglas argued. It was their sons who had been involved in the fight after all. His Grandfather Lord Walter was also there, stroking his white beard as he watched the whole with wearing patience. Milly was sitting beside Edmun, as was his mother, Hoster, and Myles, even Lucas, who was Martyn's brother. They had seen what had happened in the yard and had spoken in support of Edmun.

"A children's fight," Father declared to Lord Douglas, "that is all!"

"A children's fight you say," Uncle Douglas shouted. "Your savage boy nearly emasculated my son. Is this what he wants, so that he can be the heir?"

"Stop saying these vile things brother," said Father. "Look at what your son did to his face. His nose is caved in, and his jaw is swollen. Listen to what everyone has to say for that. Martyn started the fight."

But Uncle Douglas wasn't done. "He attacked my son, the heir," he addressed Grandfather. "I want him punished!"

"Punish him how," Grandfather replied in his wizened voice from his seat. "I see both the boys are injured and bloody. I say we finish it here. If boys don't fight then they aren't boys," he declared. "We are to host a tourney soon, distractions like these can't be afforded."

"But he attacked the Heir," Lord Douglas's wife Lady Dana said defiantly. "This insolence can't go unpunished."

Edmun's mother spoke as well. "Your son started the fight. It is _he_ who should be punished."

"He is in bed with his back broken," Aunt Dana was angry. "Is that not punishment enough? And who are you to speak to me that way Gisella? Know your place!"

Edmun felt anger inside him on seeing his mother insulted. "Enough," Lord Walter shouted definitively. "I will talk to the lad, see that he is taught a lesson. Everyone quiet down now!"

And it was all settled just like that. They all moved to the dinner table. Edmun's jaw was moaning in pain which made hard food difficult to chew. He sucked at the soup and stew from his ladle, and could swear that his oldest uncle and aunt looked pleased on seeing him struggle.

When they were done Lord Walter spoke to him. "You lad! Meet me in the study in half an hour," he said and walked away. Edmun gulped and looked at his father, who gave him a nod in support.

With a nervous gait Edmun walked towards his grandfather's study, unsure of what was to happen. He stopped in front of the tall oak gate which stood almost two feet higher than him. Nervously he gave it a knock. "Come in," came Grandfather's voice. Edmun pushed open the gate. Lord Walter was sitting at his desk, a map of the Riverlands behind him. Edmun closed the door and walked forward. "May I sit Grandfather," he asked.

Grandfather considered him. "You may," he replied. "I see you are polite enough, not the savage child your uncle professes to be."

Edmun wasn't sure what to say. The kind look on Grandfather's face was assuring though, and that put him at ease. "Why did you do it," Grandfather asked.

"I didn't do anything," Edmun replied. "Truly Grandfather! He came at me. Pinned me down and hit me in the face, twice! I took the chance.."

"And savaged his privates like a dog," Grandfather finished it for him. "He is to be your Lord one day. If you keep showing insolence then he'll remember it."

"He insulted my father," Edmun said with anger. "My mother and my sister. I got very angry after that."

"He will be taught a lesson as well lad," Grandfather counselled, stroking his chin. "I didn't build this House from nothing to hand it over to a brat."

"Martyn has been taught a lesson many times," Edmun complained. "He keeps getting away with it. He bullies us Grandfather! He and his..lackeys. We complain to the knights, but they don't listen." Edmun's resentments started bubbling up. "What kind of knights are they? Today Ser Sylas just stood and watched while Martyn beat me up."

"Listen lad.."

"Not just him," Edmun didn't care that he had just interrupted his grandfather. The anger was in him, and he had to get it out. "All other knights and man at arms just watched. They only came when I kicked Martyn. Where is the justice in that Grandfather?"

Grandfather was struggling with words. It was hard looking noble, when one had to deny the truth that was staring right at them. "Martyn will one day rule Harrenhal," he said. "He has to be strong if he hopes to command one day. Sure he will learn courtesy soon, but that rough stint is necessary in a Lord. Your cousin is strong and willful and that is required of him. You will serve him one day, and as such obedience is required of you. We all have parts to play dear boy." Grandfather smiled. "For that you have to lose your insolence and learn to respect him. Sure he will learn courtesy in time, but you have your own lesson to learn as well. Learn to obey, follow, and know your place. If you don't life can get hard."

Edmun couldn't believe his ears. "Martyn is a vile person," his voice was dazed. "How can he possibly be a good lord?"

"Vile or not, it is strength that is required for ruling. Strength to protect your own, and defeat the outsiders. The world has little to give boy, and if you want it then you have to be strong enough to take it."

Edmun's mind was thrumming as looked at his Grandfather's face, which suddenly looked dull and stupid as a toad. "He takes from us," he said with wide eyes. "He takes children's things, and breaks their wills. When they raise our voices they are silenced by threats. Is this your idea of a good lord?"

Grandfather's kind façade started breaking. "Listen lad.."

But Edmun wasn't done. "Were you also acting strong when you rode out against the Legion?"

The façade broke away to reveal an affronted face. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," said Edmun with vigor. "I read about it, the way you broke Aegon's Legion in the tourney grounds. They were afraid and hungry, looking for shelter. You and your knights attacked and killed them, and for what crime, it was just to please the new King. They tried to flee on foot, and you chased them with horses and dogs. They were good people, and you _killed_ them!" He threw the accusation while he glared daggers at his grandfather. "And now you are telling me to bow to Martyn, a huge turd of a person, who is sure to do worse things than what happened..."

Edmun stopped abruptly. His stomach dropped and an icy cold feeling went through his whole body when he took note of his grandfather's face. Lord Walter Whent was glaring down at him with what could only be described as _pure_ hatred. He had never seen Grandfather look at someone like that, not in his memory. That was when he realized that he crossed a line. He had crossed the line, and there was no coming back now. Lord Walter Whent rose from his seat and menaced towards him, and Edmun felt fear shrink him into the littlest thing imaginable.

"You...little... _bastard_ ," Lord Walter rasped venomously.

Edmun couldn't utter a sound. He was paralysed with fear. He just gulped, unable to break contact with Lord Walter's blood shot eyes.

"You...ungrateful... _ungrateful_...pampered little bastard! You think you can preach to me? _Me?!_ What do you know of fairness? Of life?" Lord Walter stared hatefully at Edmun's blanched face. "Here let me show you!" Abruptly he snatched one of Edmun's arms and pulled at it with a force unimaginable from a grandfather. Edmun winced as Grandfather forced him up from his seat. "You will know your place soon, ungrateful little brat," each of his words was a spit of thick venom.

He dragged Edmun with him out of the study and then through the stony corridors of Harrenhal. Edmun followed him, walking, stumbling, being dragged on the floor. His wrist was screaming in pain where Grandfather held him, shunting his two bones together. ' _Mercy grandfather. Forgive me please,'_ he wanted to shout, but his pride forbade him to.

"Clynton!" Lord Walter shouted for Edmun's father when he was outside his chamber, his voice mad with anger. " _Clynton!_ Come on out! Come and see what your little whelp has done."

The chamber door burst open and his father and mother rushed out. "What happened?"

"Father!" Edmun couldn't help but cry out. "Mother!"

"Let go of him now Father," Father's voice was angry as he moved to defend him. "He is a _boy_ for Gods' sake!"

His grandfather shoved Edmun into father's arms. Edmun's whole family and the servants had also come by then, shock etched on their faces as they took in the whole scene. Maester Forlan was there too, wild worry on his face.

"He won't have any of it, you hear me? I want nothing given to this rat! He is hereby disinherited from _any_ of my wealth," Lord Walter barked. "I built this House from nothing, and the little _shit_ has the nerve to teach morals to me!"

Hot tears rushed out of Edmun's eyes, he buried his face in Father's chest, refusing to look.

"He is your grandson Father," his father retorted. "Your _blood_. You can't.."

"I can and I will," shouted Lord Walter. "I have four others. Do you think you did me a favor by making a son? From what I see he is a useless mouth to feed!" He spat. "I want him out of this castle after the Tourney. You hear me? Find a different home for him. He has no place here!"

"What are you all staring at," Lord Walter shouted at the watchers. "Go to your chambers! Now!" He left for his chamber, and the crowd started dispersing.

When he was gone Father pushed Edmun gently off his chest to look him in the eyes. "What happened son?"

But Edmun couldn't utter a word as sobs racked his body. He felt himself falling down, but Father held on to him, refusing to let go. He loved his father with all his heart at that moment, but the sobs kept coming with breaths, unstoppable, inconsolable. He slumped down on the floor like a broken puppet, dragging his father with him.

He could hear his mother and his sister, his other family as well; talking around him. But Edmun couldn't comprehend them. A black blinding space was in front of his eyes, and Edmun's whole world seemed to have been lost in it.

In that black space faces appeared. The worn haggard faces Edmun had seen in the queue of commoners at the castle gates, that had appeared familiar to him when he had come back from riding. It was in his despair that Edmun realized how stupid he had been, and why the faces had appeared familiar.

He had seen those faces in the queue only, but on multiple days. _Those people had been coming for many days,_ Edmun realized, _asking for help from their lords. They kept coming and coming, and were being sent away, every day, by their Lords, my family._


	5. Head of the Waywatchers (Addam I)

**Chapter 5**

Master Addam leaned over his broad oak desk, running his weary yet vigilant eyes through the parchments that were scattered on it, trying to make sense out of their writings. The neat study chamber was quiet except for the burning embers that crackled in the fireplace, adding a savory taste in the crisp morning air. Reports from White Harbor, Lannisport, Oldtown, Gulltown, King's Landing; they were all there on his desk. Perhaps the word 'report' was an exaggeration. They were small notes scribbled by his men all over Westeros, telling of things that might be of note to their employer. Master Addam had spent months finding and placing loyal men all over the port cities of Westeros, and now the hard work was paying for itself. The South might have forgotten his _legion,_ but Addam hadn't. They went by a different name now, but the _Waywatchers_ remembered their roots.

Addam decided to take a break, unable to crack the labyrinth, again. Leaning back on his plush chair he ran a hand through his salt and pepper stubble. The air was nippy again that morning as another early summer snow fell outside the glass window, painting Wintertown in a dour white. Addam let out a sigh. 'The world is a tapestry,' he remembered Archmaester Gyles's statement from a lifetime ago when Addam had been a novice at the Citadel. The Old man loved to bore the statement into the minds of all his pupils. "A colorful _intricate_ tapestry made by the Gods. Everything is connected! Though one will not find it through casual eyes. It is up to the person's _wits_ to see it for himself and appreciate the beauty. Seeing _, the **real** seeing, _that is what is required." For all his urgings about this mysterious 'tapestry', the old man died of a broken hip before he could find it himself.

Here Addam was now, no longer a boy novice at the Citadel listening to the words of grey men, but the Head of the Waywatchers and the harbinger of change, a grown tempered man of forty six with greying hair and eye circles, and a voice that could inspire and intimidate men and women. Despite all that Addam still held the old archmaester's teaching to heart. At the moment he was looking for hints of a different tapestry, spun not by the Gods, but by men.

 _Or rather, dragons. A_ _C_ ompany _of them._

'What are you planning Rhaenyra,' he whispered. He glanced at the wall length map of Westeros to his right, all dotted with castles and towns. The _Company of the Dragon_ were up to something, they had to be. Winter was over, and it was time to act. Rhaenyra and her followers had left the continent after they all were routed by Lord Whent's knights in Harrenhal. But they soon resurfaced after the War of the Ninepenny Kings, when they struck the hot iron and took over the weakened Golden Company. That was when Addam's own group at Winterfell had realized that it was not the end of Rhaenyra and her prophecy obsessed followers.

At the moment the _Company_ were talking to the Prince of Dragonstone Rhaegar Targaryen, that much was clear from what he and the others could decipher. The messages stopped making sense after that, and that was what worried Addam. Everything seemed normal to his senses, but his heart screamed otherwise, and Addam languished in this turmoil in silence.

It was all too much. Addam trained his eyes away from the map and the reports. Instead he reached for his wine flask on the desk and poured himself a drink. Golden wine, shipped all the way from the Arbor. His eyes closed on their own in bliss as the vintage went down his parched throat, soothing his throbbing senses like a woman's whisper. He remembered Holly. _Yes, there she is._ His beautiful wife, smiling teasingly from whatever heaven she was in now. A lifetime ago Addam had tried giving her a taste of his cherished golden vintage. Northern to the bone as she was Holly had rejected it outright, naming it 'yellow water for Southern ladies.'

 _The Northerners don't have sense for the finer thing_ s _anyway_ , thought Addam. For a person who was Southron to the bone Addam had ended up in the unlikeliest of places. The North was grey and hard, and _cold,_ so cold! Nothing like the village beside the Honeywine where Addam was born and brought up, with its sunlit streets and golden fields of wheat and melon _._ Not a day had come in all of his time here when Addam could wear anything other than heavy wool or fur. Everyone around him wanted strong ale or sour wine, and it had taken some effort on Addam's part to arrange for periodic barrels of the Arbor gold.

 _Maybe the fault is with me,_ he told himself. He had two sons, Horas and Matthos, from his two different wives. Both his sons were doing just fine in the North. Horas was born from his first wife Karla whom he had met in the South. She and Addam had raised him together until she died of a fever, and from then on Horas had spent most of his time with the Northerners. He was a man now, a _Northern_ man, a tall, strapping lad of seventeen years. And Matthos, a boy of seven, he even spoke like them, in their careless Northern accent. His mother Holly was a Northerner too. She was one year widowed when he first met her, and Addam had dared to fall in love again as he got to know the woman more. Holly died giving birth to Matthos, and after that the boy was practically being raised by the Northerners with Addam always being busy. Addam had never even told his sons where their father had come from, where he was born.

 _My Southron-ness will die with me,_ Addam mused as he looked down at his half empty cup. He wasn't sure what to think of that.

Addam decided he was done for now with his little espionage scheme. Being the Head of the _Waywatchers_ there was no dearth of issues requiring his attention. Besides, Lord Rickard didn't have to know about what Addam was up to in his private time. That knowledge was limited to only those who had been with Addam since the start. While Addam was loyal and owed everything to the Starks, things may not remain good if the Lord Rickard found out that Addam had been spying on all of Westeros.

He collected the reports and threw them inside a drawer. For a moment the burning fireplace seemed a tempting place for the parchments, but Addam rebuked away the thought as soon as it came. He went for the ledger containing the various requests & demands for grants by the fieldworkers. Over the years the Waywatchers had come to be divided into five groups, or _Orders_ as they had come to call themselves with pride. First came the _Traders_ , mostly grown and tempered men who looked after trade and commerce all over the North. They were the strongest of the groups, having hands on the newly emerging trade routes. Next came the _Planners_ , more women than men, charged with looking after the refugees and Wintertown's everyday life. Then the _Scholars_ , mostly green boys and some girls aspiring to build a second Citadel in the North. The _Watchers_ , consisting of gruff sworn swords and hedge knights whose task was to look after the law and order in the North, though they were mostly limited to lands sworn to Winterfell. And finally, there were the _Soldiers_ , working more closely with Lord Rickard than Master Addam, thinking of ways to strengthen the Northern army. Except for the last one each of them was supervised and funded from Addam's chamber in the First Keep, who in turn was under Lord Stark.

The demands presented themselves, and he couldn't help but scowl. " _Imbeciles,"_ he whispered under his breathe as he began crossing out the _moronic_ demands. _When will you all learn. Stupid...dreamers!_ He had rejected ten or twelve of them with a scowl when he heard a knock on the door. "Enter," he drawled.

The door opened to reveal Lady Lyanna, and Addam felt the scowl on his face ease into a smile. She was a sight for sore eyes, the Young Lady of Winterfell. Her heavy grey cloak was flaked with snow, white as the steam coming from her breathe. "Lady Stark," he greeted, standing up. "How may I be of service?"

"Everything is fine Master Addam," said Lady Lyanna with a smile as she closed the door behind, dusting the snow from her cloak. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Not at the moment my lady," Addam replied. "Dismissing these demands can be done later, a drag on my time anyway." He pushed the ledger aside. "What happened? Did Horas do something?"

Lady Lyanna looked at him in exasperation. "He didn't do anything at all, not at the moment anyway." She walked to his desk and took a seat opposite to him. "You should go easy on him. Last I saw, he was helping in clearing the spring feast arrangements. There were plans to practice swords after that, I believe."

"How _original_ ," Addam said. Lady Lyanna often defended his son from Addam, at times very fiercely. Addam didn't mind at all. His elder son and Lady Lyanna were born in the same year and had grown up together. Addam had taught them both along with with other children and had seen them become friends. He had once wanted a daughter, and seeing his son befriend Lady Lyanna gave his heart a lot of joy. "I am sure you will understand when you have children of your own my lady. Fighting and revelry can only get you so far," he added. "He can't swing swords forever."

"Maybe, but they sure give the boys some pride don't they," said Lady Lyanna. "Horas wants to be a knight. You should've seen Brandon when he was our age. All he wanted to do was fight and ride."

"And chase girls, yes I know," Addam said with a tinge of impatience. "Horas isn't the Heir to Winterfell though. He has a different path to tread." Perhaps he was being unfair to his son, but in his experience hardly anything in life ever was, at least for the commoners and lowborns. That battle at Harrenhal still haunted Addam even after all this time. Good fighters had died fighting Lord Whent's knights at Harrenhal that day, spilling their blood and hopes uselessly on the grassy fields beside God's Eye while Addam and his friends had just run away. Thinking about that day still made him shiver with fear. Now Addam was working to build a new world, where swordplay wouldn't hold much importance for survival. He wanted his sons to fit and thrive in that world.

The easy look on Lady Lyanna's face flickered. "As you say Master Addam," she said. The young Lady Stark was like all other Northerners, fierce in her beliefs.

"I know he tries," Addam said on seeing the look she gave him. "I know his strengths," he added further, and Lady Lyanna's face eased. "He's strong and a has good mind, better than most anyway." Addam glanced at the ledger. "Most of the novices of his age who work under me are utter imbeciles with stupid ideas."

"Stupid? How so?" She asked inquisitively.

"These young people," Addam scoffed. "Insolent and naïve. They think they are the _kings_ of the world, all high up and invincible in their cage of dreams. I hope they learn soon, otherwise that road only leads to brigandry, or worse, madness." Addam was once a mad dreamer himself until life taught him to find joy in more _earthly_ things. His family for instance, and his pupils. "Just look at the demands in that ledger my lady. Today someone suggested paving the streets and castle with marble so that Winterfell can become as beautiful as the Sept of Baelor."

Lady Lyanna's face was mirthful. "I think I've heard that one before."

"Maybe. These _ideas_ never are original," said Addam.

"Maybe there's a silver lining in it Master Addam," she said. "People in Wintertown are daring to dream."

Addam shook his head. "I am all for dreams. Dreams can be good. But these are delusions. You may not have heard the others that are floating around my lady. Retaking the Sisters from the Arryns, clearing the Wolfswood to settle the Wildling clans there, defeating Bravos and Lorath and force them to reduce their import tariffs, and what not. I all but ignore them now, it gives me time to address the bigger worries."

"And what are the _bigger worries_ Master Addam," Lady Lyanna asked.

He smiled bitterly. "To be honest my lady, and blunt, at the moment my biggest concern are Wintertown's privy pits. They are filling up, and need to be redug."

Lady Lyanna rolled her eyes. "Seriously," she asked. "Privy pits? Is that all? That is quite...unstimulating."

"Hardly, Lady Lyanna. You don't understand," he replied, and sighed. "I did discuss this with you father recently. Turns out we had been building our dreams on shaky grounds. Wintertown was never meant to be a 'town', it just became one in a rush. It certainly cannot become a city like White Harbor. There are no rivers or lakes near it; just the hot springs and _the stream_ that is keeping everything going. The nearest river is four leagues away at Torrhen's Square. We can't house any more people if our present arrangement is to be sustained, but we can't keep them out either."

Lady Lyanna's face turned thoughtful. "Surely you have a solution in mind Master Addam," she asked.

"Why do you think so my lady?"

"Everyone in Wintertown knows you are the person with all the answers," she stated with a smirk.

Addam snorted in fondness. Lady Lyanna seemed to a little too blithe, given her close involvement with the Waywatchers and their work. _Or perhaps she trusts me too much, like many others._

"That's what Lord Stark said as well, but it is not true," Addam replied. "We all have our limits. My hope is that the lands where the _North's Way_ is being enforced should retain its smallfolk, and all should be fine," he paused. "I won't lie, I had expected better results from the spring talks. Nevertheless, all but the Boltons and Dustins have joined. Could have been worse. I'll take it." His throat went dry, so he drank some more from his glass of Arbor gold. "But still, with the smallfolk coming in everyday, we have to think for the future. Soon we may have to plan the streets and lay down sewers, or move the whole city to some other location, and that is a different headache altogether." Addam groaned. "I just hope everything stays peaceful in coming years. You never know when trouble might spring up after a long winter; with all the lords playing the game of thrones." The face of a silver haired woman flashed in front of his eyes, her smile malevolent as the stranger. Though Addam knew that she wouldn't look like that now after all the years that have passed. She would be old now, just like him. _What are you up to Rhaenyra?_

No reply came from young Lady Lyanna this time, she appeared to be thinking over what Addam had said. For a while the only sound in the chamber was that of the crackling fire. "Why did you come to me my lady," he asked, breaking the pause. "Can I help you with something?"

She looked at him. "You studied the higher mysteries during your time at the Citadel did you not?"

Addam blinked in confusion. "Yes..yes indeed I did," he spoke. "I have a Valyrian steel link to show for it."It was along with his other links piled up haphazardly in a large chest. Addam had forged a total of fifteen links, three more than the old crafty Maester Walys, but still wasn't eligible to wear them as a chain. "Why do you ask my lady?"

"I..I was wondering if I could borrow some books from you Master Addam," she spoke with some hesitation. "The subject has piqued my curiosity, and the library doesn't have many books for it."

"Of course you can Lady Lyanna," he replied, pleased on seeing his former pupil showing interest in reading for leisure. "All my books are on the shelf. The Higher mysteries are on the third row from the top. Help yourself." She stood up and walked to his large iron book shelf to the left, bustling with tomes of every size, Addam's most cherished possessions. She took her time in inspecting them in silence.

"Do you need help in finding the right book my lady?"

"No need Master Addam," she replied, her eyes not leaving the shelf. She finally pulled out a book, and then another. "I will return them soon Master Addam. Thank you." With this she walked out of the chamber, her gait measured and stiff. When she was gone Master Addam got up to inspect the bookshelf, curious about what his former pupil wanted to read about. She had taken two books, one of them was about prophecies and seers, while other was about the mysteries of Valyria.

 _Curious indeed._

He went back to his desk and opened the ledger of demands again. ' _Twenty silver stags for buying sewing needles and other things, so the new women can learn knitting_ ,' said the writing of Maggy, the former Septa turned _Planner._ Addam approved the demand with a flourish of his quill. Many demands that followed were prudent and practical, Addam was pleased to see. Perhaps there was hope after all.

There was a knock on the door again. It was Clydas, another of his pupils, a bright healer novice of seventeen years who worked with Maester Walys. "M'lord," he bowed his head.

"I am no lord dear boy," he replied with a fatherly smile. "What can I do for you?"

"You had a raven Master..Addam. From the Eyrie."

"The _Eyrie,"_ he exclaimed. "Is it from Ned?"

"Lord Eddard m'lord? I don't know. Why don't you see it yourself?"

Clydas handed him the scroll and shuffled out of the room. Addam broke the seal and unrolled it, and recognised the neat succinct handwriting of Ned Stark.

 _Master Addam._

 _I know what you have been up to. I spotted your man Symond when I visited Gulltown, and he told me everything. I approve of your work, and would ask you to take me into your confidence. The Company of the Dragon is planning something, and they seem to be very curious about the Starks and the North. It looks like we Starks would be at the heart of whatever their schemes are. I ask you to stay vigilant, and look out for dangers to our Kingdom. Convince my father to increase patrol of the East coast and White Harbor. Do whatever else you think fit. I will be coming to Winterfell soon, and we will speak more about this._

 _Your former apprentice and ally,_

 _Eddard Stark._

Addam's mind was thinking very fast as he rolled back the note. Perhaps it was time to call for another meeting of his inner circle.


	6. The Flatlands: Samara I, Davos I

**Chapter 6**

* * *

They shivered inside while the rain roared and lashed against their canvas tents all night long. When morning came the woods smelled damp and cold, and the trees were still dripping water on their tents.

But they started out all the same, the group of twenty men and women, warriors belonging to the _Company of the Dragon_. The plan had already been discussed and finalized last night around the campfire, over a meal of salted beef and fruit. So only a grim nod was shared amongst them when they emerged from their tents. The group broke their fast and armed themselves, and headed out from their shelter nestled in the woods.

The overcast sun was high in the sky when they finally found the road, the old Valyrian track running through the wilderness of the Flatlands, to connect the free cities of Myr and Pentos. The group left the wet forest-floor and climbed the embankment, turning north when they were on the drenched stone path. Cool morning breeze blew past them as they trudged on, and whispered through from the tall trees. That was the only sound they could hear. The road was deserted as it always was. Civilized folk had abandoned this part of the earth, instead choosing to travel between Myr and Pentos by sea, for both were bustling port cities. That also gave the road a notorious reputation as it attracted all kinds of lowlifes; pirates, smugglers, thieves, thugs, and what not.

But the _Company_ were not thugs. To them they were _soldiers_. Soldiers with a purpose.

The trek came to a sudden and graceless halt, as a grisly scene came into view. On the way ahead a huge snake lay dead and festering, drowning the air in the foul scent of death. " _Gods!_ " Someone exclaimed loudly. It was more than seven feet long, black with dull yellow speckles everywhere. The carrion birds had already been at it, buzzing and chirping as they happily tore apart its thick body. Two gaping holes were dripping blood where its eyes used to be, and the jagged tongue was sticking out floppy and lifeless. The belly had been torn open, spilling out sticky entrails and blood that had soaked into the wet stones under it.

The wordless resolve of the spring morning took a sudden ominous plunge, leaving frightened silence behind.

The sixteen year old Samara had been walking in the back with Avi. They were in the Flatlands, on the old Valyrian road connecting Myr and Pentos, surrounded by tall wet trees and rocks. Her bow and sword were becoming heavier on her body and she had no desire to stop until they reached their destination. Scowling, she left Avi behind and moved ahead in the column to find the reason for the halt. The macabre sight in front was surely not a good way to start the morning.

And certainly not very auspicious, the young soldier could see it clear as day on the faces around her. No one dared to speak or move, and the only sound that remained was the breeze whispering past them, and the busy carrion birds. The snake was lying along the width of the wet road, as if blocking anyone who'd dare to pass. "Bad luck. A sign of death," she heard someone's fervid whisper. Men and women, otherwise brave and fearsome, were looking at it with apprehension. Their swords and bows were forgotten as many of them pulled out their amulets and chains, whispering their prayers.

Samara's father was leading their party for the mission and was already at the front. His stiff gaze was trained at the dead thing. _Is he afraid too?_ Samara couldn't tell.

"Father?" She asked.

Something changed in his look when he found her beside him. He looked at the nervous faces all choked up in superstition, and in a heartbeat Ser Monford Velaryon had put on his 'Commander' face. Sharp steel whispered against leather as he pulled out his weapon, and the unsheathed bastard sword dazzled splendidly in the morning light.

The carrion birds turned their beady eyes towards him as he walked forward, and flew away. Father stopped in front of the dead thing. His knuckles were white around his swordhilt, ready to hack the snake in two.

But he didn't. Instead he flattened his blade and slipped it under the carcass, and with a heave threw it into the bushes off the embankment.

He turned to look at them. "Move along," he commanded as if nothing had happened. The dead snake had disappeared into the shrubs, but the thick trail of blood and gore it had left on the road was still there. "We can't be late. The _Lady_ is counting on us."

"But Ser Monford," said Ysin, tugging at the bow slung across her torso. Her voice troubled Samara. The Ibbenese warrior woman usually had a careless swagger about her that was strangely comforting to the young soldier, but at that moment Ysin sounded like any other village woman.

"You all are strong men and women! _Fighters!_ " Samara's father said as he walked back to the column. "Are you all afraid of dead vermin?"

"It is a bad omen. A sign of misfortune. It is known," Qhuogo the Fierce professed in his gruff voice as he stepped forward to face Ser Monford, his fingers brushing the arakh on his hip. With his long braid and over six feet girth the Dothraki looked almost otherworldly compared to the Westerosi knight. Samara didn't like the look the nomad was giving her father. She stepped closer to him.

But Father nudged her away. "You will hold your tongue horselord," he growled in fluent Dothraki and returned Qhuogo's look. The graveness on Father's face was a sight to behold, like he was looking past Qhuogo's skin, right into his soft fleshy brains. Soon enough the wiry Qhuogo looked elsewhere, but that didn't do much. The Company members were still afraid.

"Have you _all_ forgotten why we are all here," Father rasped sharply, and they all flinched. "We are here for _something_ that is bigger than us, _and_ our petty fears. _Yes_ they are petty, because there _are_ no bad omens. There's only destiny, the _purpose_ we live for. No dead animal on the road can tell us about it. _Who_ knows why that snake died right in our path. Maybe he was too fat to run from a cat. Maybe he was old and had finally given up on life. Perhaps he himself saw an omen that paralyzed him with fear." The group hung their head in shame.

"Whatever be the reason," father continued, "it has nothing to do with why we are here. Why be afraid of omens, when we have _her_ to guide us."

Many looked up and nodded in vigor, and the rest followed with less zeal. "Remember your destiny," father shouted. "Remember the King who _died_ for us! Forward! The world needs us." A breeze blew through the road, catching Ser Monford's silver hair and making them fly, and at that moment her father looked more a King than a Commander.

But that was who he was. Ser Monford Valeryon, from the blood of old Valyria that had once ruled over all the world.

They started walking again, up and over the bloody spot. " _The Purpose,"_ Samara had heard the phrase being used so many times in her time with the Company. The whole group held to it religiously, never letting it go. Samara wasn't one of them.

* * *

 **XX**

* * *

They had come almost halfway when their horses started whickering in fright.

"What the fuck! Stay still boy," Hal barked at his spindly stallion as it tried to buck away. "Do you want me to feed you even less."

"It's the blood. Look! Over there," Davos the smuggler pointed at the thick trail of blood ahead on the cobbled road. He too was trying to calm his horse. "Looks like a snake died there. The horses can smell it."

"Indeed," the Myrishwoman remarked, patting her nervous horse. "Poor thing. Not a good omen I must add. We must move on," she urged. "No time to waste."

"No one was stopping _woman_ ," Hal scoffed at her. "Alright let's move. The rain might come again." Davos looked up at the sky. More rain was unlikely as the sun was already cracking through the clouds. But it didn't hurt to just agree with their self-styled leader.

"Where's the snake though," Ryger grinned. "Could have used the meat, whatever wasn't rotten that is."

They moved on, a group of eleven misfits who had banded up to travel to Pentos through the old Valyrian road, along with their stuff being carried by draft animals. Davos knew many of them from before. Hal, a tall gruff man with thick hairy arms who had indulged in almost every sin professed by the priests, today smuggling precious herbs between Myr and Pentos. Two eighteen year old boys named Rolly and Tom along with their spotty friend, the biggest perverts Davos had ever known, carrying some things that smelled fishy on two horses. Ryger, a comely red-haired youth from Oldtown carrying two caskets with him. According to him he couldn't find a ship cheap enough. Four sellswords with copper skin and snake like faces, who didn't talk much and kept to themselves. Davos himself, relaying two donkeyloads of cannabis to be delivered to the dens in Bravos.

This was all well and good, for Davos had traveled with them before and expected company like them on this road. What made this journey entirely different from his previous ones was the Myrishwoman riding on his right. In the company of smugglers and lowlifes like Davos and others she looked completely out of place. Women never traversed on this track, certainly not ones as handsome as her. Everything about her _screamed_ Myr. She looked to be around thirty-five, dusky skinned and dignified. Her thick black hair were left loose as they did in Myr, and fell well below her shoulders. The rich yet plain attire that she wore had surely seen better days, and hid all hints of any womanly curves that she had underneath. In the marketplace of Myr it was she who had approached Davos and others, asking whether she could travel to Pentos with them. They were more puzzled than anything when they had agreed. Rolly, Tom, and their spotty friend had grinned shamelessly as they had undressed the woman with their eyes, much to Davos's annoyance.

She was riding in silence, her eyes mostly staying on the road ahead, a slight smile playing on her lips. Something about that smile made Davos extremely drawn to her. It was as if there was more to it, more to _her._ He moved his horse closer to the woman. "I never knew Myrish believed in omens m'lady. I always thought they were more brain than heart."

The woman looked at him. "There are no omens Ser Davos," she replied. "Only destiny. I was only speaking for the others."

Being addressed as a knight puzzled Davos. He was no knight, nor could he ever pass as one. He was a commoner through and through. "If I may ask," he said, fiddling with the reins of his horse. "Why are you going to Pentos?"

Her eyes moved back to the road ahead. ""My man died while doing his job, and I have children to feed. I have to complete his work, and for that I need to take the goods to Pentos."

Davos nodded in understanding. "Why not take a ship m'lady," he asked. "It would have been safer for you."

"Safer for me?" She cocked her head. "And what about your safety good man?"

"You must know this already," he spoke as their path looped around a mound, "you are not safe here. The journey, it is not meant for...it is perilous and hard. There are no inns and rest stops. It has all sorts of dangers in it. Raiders, criminals, thieves...lechers...you know how it is."

The woman smiled sadly _._ "It is a gamble isn't it," she said. "But life makes gamblers out of us all, sooner or later. Some gambles pay off, and some don't." She shook her head. "But why do I need to worry, when I have a knight to protect me," she gestured towards Davos.

"I am not a knight woman," he said.

"Of _course_ you aren't." She said. "And to answer your question, the ship captains and my _family_ aren't on good terms. I couldn't go with them."

Davos found the whole thing peculiar, but he didn't question further. He couldn't.

"What is your name good woman," he found himself asking. He could hear the three boys mumbling from behind. "You know me. I am Davos, from King's Landing."

Her eyes chimed as she looked at Davos again, and he couldn't help but gulp. "Betha," she replied, her voice smooth and deep.

Their conversation was finally interrupted by the three friends. "Stop making eyes at her Davos," Tom hooted. "You have a wife remember, and she has the bigger teats." The three friends cackled.

Davos bristled in anger. "You will mind your tongue boy," he growled.

"Or what," said their friend whose name Davos didn't know. "You think we are afraid of the likes of you."

Davos brushed his hand on the hilt of his dagger, ready to take on the three. "Why don't we find out?"

That was when Hal who was riding ahead of them turned his thick neck. "I don't want any fighting on the road. One word from you three," he pointed at the three friends, "and I will make sure that you don't get any business for two hundred years."

"Indeed," said Ryger from beside Hal, smiling sweetly. "Save your mischief for the brothels. This lady is on business." The sellswords didn't say anything.

Davos quieted down along with the others, but not before sending a glare at the three. If it came to blows he could take those three himself, or so he thought. He glanced at 'Betha' and found that she didn't seem offended at all. _What Myrishwoman is named Betha,_ Davos wondered. It was a Westerosi name, not a Myrish one.

Hal called for rest at noon near a small stream. It had caught up with their road from the East and now ran parallel to it, and some distance ahead it'd turn East again to meet up with the _Bite,_ an actual river. The stream was regaining its strength with the snowmelts, and the clear water was flowing briskly over the brown bed. Davos fed and watered the animals along with the others. The air was heavy after the rain last night, one of the many annoying early spring showers that served no purpose at all. The forest had thinned into a small clearing but there were still some shady trees, and Davos chose one to sit under. He pulled out his skin of water and drank deep, sighing as a cool spring breeze blew through the landscape. Soon Hal might call for them to move, so Davos wanted to sit and rest for as long as possible. But when he saw the stocky man taking a dip in the river he knew it was going to be a longer stop.

He spotted Betha nearby. She was sitting under a leafless tree, her solemn gaze trained at the flowing water. Her palfrey and mule were also there chomping on the grass around her, the only company that she had. The three friends were still giving her looks which Davos found quite annoying, and he found himself standing up and approaching her. Davos _had_ a wife, the best woman in the world who was waiting for him back home with his two sons. Yet this Myrishwoman was doing things to him that he couldn't comprehend. Davos had seen many a woman mistreated in his time as a smuggler, and never had he ever felt a protective urge as he was doing now. _Perhaps that is why she is calling me a knight._

He sat down beside her, and that was when she took notice. "You should do a better job protecting me Ser Davos," she spoke in an amused tone. "Those three have been ogling me continuously."

Despite her casual voice Davos couldn't help but scowl at the three friends. He struggled with his reply before settling at one. "I will keep an eye on them," he said. "Like I had said, this road isn't for women."

"Indeed," the Myrishwoman replied, indifferent. "Nothing messes us up worse than time. This road, it was once the lifeblood of Essos, and now look at it." She gestured towards the road, and that was when Davos saw her ring. A silver band rested on her slender finger, with a large amethyst embedded in it.

"That was a long time ago m'lady. Valyrians have been gone for centuries," said Davos. "At the moment though...many merchants had thought that now with the Northern kingdom trading more these roads might see more activity. But that didn't happen, at least for now."

"Oh yes, the _North_ and their new way," she smiled. " _Those_ people have done well for themselves."

"Yes m'lady. Obviously dishonest men like me never want this road to thrive again," he smiled bitterly. "Bad for business."

"I wouldn't call _you_ a dishonest man Ser Davos," she stated.

He snorted. "I am a smuggler m'lady, just one step away from a proper thug." He looked towards the river. Hal had come out of the water and was drying up. Ryger was plucking wild fruits from a tree. The sellswords were busy talking amongst themselves. They'd all surely be on the road soon, Davos figured. After this their next stop would be at the Bite, an actual river, not a stream like this one. They'd spend the night there.

"Tell me Davos," she asked, "how did an honest man like you end up working as a smuggler?

There was no _judgement_ in her dark eyes when Davos turned to look at her. "It just happened, m'lady," he replied. "I was born with nothing. I had to make ends meet and one day ended up sneaking goods past guards and patrols. It paid well, so I kept doing it. But that is all I do," he added awkwardly. "I have never killed or hurt anyone."

"But do you know what happens _after_ you have delivered those goods. How many men will waste away their savings on the cannabis you are smuggling," Betha asked. When he struggled to answer she chuckled. "Don't worry about it Ser Davos. I can see that you are an honest man, and we have short supply of that these days. You may not have an honest trade at the moment I know. But given chance, I can see it, you are capable of _extreme_ greatness. Tell me Ser Davos, do you wish for a different life."

"I do," he replied, "I am not a dreamer m'lady, but I do hope for better days. Everyone does, but I am afraid there's small chance of that."

She nodded. "I hear you. But be on the lookout. Who knows when that day might come when you'd have to smuggle some onions for the starving, instead of cannabis for the decadent, Ser Davos."

"I am not a knight."

"Of course you aren't," she replied. "But for this journey you are my knight."

"If I may, m'lady," said Davos, "your name, it's Westerosi isn't it?"

The woman smiled a knowing smile. "It is indeed," she said. "A name from the Sunset Kingdoms. Funny how things work out isn't it," she looked away. If she had secrets then she was welcome to them. Davos knew better than to pry. He hardly knew her, and after this journey they'd go their separate ways.

* * *

 **XX**

* * *

The chirping of robins and the flowing water were welcome sounds after being on the road for hours. They had reached the Bite, the river that ran midway between Pentos and Myr. "We will rest and eat, and then will take positions," she heard her father's shout as they headed towards the clear water.

Smiling, Samara threw off her bow and sword and stretched her arms. She scouted the river and the old Valyrian arch-bridge over it, the one they'd cross tomorrow. The _Bite_ was far wider and livelier than the sorry stream they had passed by hours ago. The river was blue and clean, disappearing into the western horizon where the orange sun was setting. The water made a soothing sound as it hurtled towards the narrow sea. It reminded Samara of Volantis, and her old life. She had spent many good hours of her childhood with her legs dipped in the cool waters of Volantene riverfront, singing songs about Gods and love with the other girls. That was a long time ago, before her father had come to take her away, changing everything forever.

The water was teaming with plump fish, so plump that the young soldier had little trouble catching two with her hands. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh meat as she beat the carps against a rock. But then she saw her fellow soldiers frowning at her in disapproval, even after all the time she had spent with them. Avi was among them too, who had just this morning been flirting with her. It was _his_ eyes that hurt her the most. _Salted beef it is, again,_ she thought as she threw the fish away. Her stomach may as well be dead inside.

Frowning, she walked away from the river. Beyond the clearing of the road and the river the forest trees grew tall and thick, perfect for the Company to hide before they perform the mission. Under one of those shady trees sat her father. His eyes were focused on the dark stiletto in his hands as he polished it with a piece of cloth, hunting down any imperfection. His face was grave as it used to be most of the time. "He is always unsmiling," others had told Samara. "But he smiles when he looks at you."

She walked up to him. "Can't we all eat fish father," she asked. "There is plenty in the river."

He looked up at her. "What's stopping you," he asked.

Samara didn't know whether the question was rhetorical or not. "Others don't want me to apparently. They all looked at me badly when I caught two, so I had to throw them away."

Father sheathed the stiletto and put it aside. "And why do you think that is," he asked, looking at her with his piercing gaze. Samara shrugged. She had an answer in mind, but she refrained from voicing it.

"It is because their mind is on the task at hand," Father replied, "and eating ripe fish is the last thing they are thinking.."

Suddenly Samara felt caught off guard. Her scared eyes darted away from Father.

"Come sit with me daughter," he said. Samara had no choice but to sit down. She kept her gaze on the ground, tugging out the grass that grew beneath her.

"Speak freely," he spoke, his voice gentle. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Samara looked around to check if anyone was listening. "I had expected different things father," she spoke. "It has been more than a year since you found me. We have traveled throughout these lands, doing missions like these."

"Are you afraid daughter," he asked.

Samara considered his question. "Of what, this life? Of death?" She smirked. "I would never have come with you and spent all this time with the group if I had been. The _Company_ gave me something I never had, and I owe you all for it." Samara had been born and brought up in the crowded sweltering city of Volantis. Her mother worked in one of the pillowhouses there, taking seed of strangers in exchange for money. One day the seed quickened and out came Samara, a girl with olive skin and silver streaked hair. Her mother had already put a price on her maidenhead the day she had flowered, claiming that the girl had the blood of Old Valyria. Her price had increased every time someone came forward to claim her with the money. Samara's father found her before some blotchy old man could seal the deal, and took her into the _Company_. She still remembered that day fondly. 'Samara the Virgin' became 'Samara the Soldier' that day.

"Then what is the matter," father asked.

 _Should I tell him?_ She had a lot to say. She wanted to rest and enjoy life for once instead of living in forests and going on missions. To eat good food and dance and sing songs, to sit and talk with Avi and tell him how she felt, to feel his copper skin under her fingers, kiss him and laugh at his jokes. But she certainly couldn't say all this to Ser Monford.

"I don't know what we are doing here father," she confessed. "It has been more than a year. We live in forests and villages. Do missions and send the spoils to the Company. When I started with you it felt glorious, but now.." she stopped there.

"We are doing our duty Samara," Father replied.

"We are _rebels_ father," she said. "What _is_ the duty of a rebel anyway?"

Father took his time in responding. "To be the harbinger of change," he proclaimed, "or die and become its foundation. You do remember what I told you, what happened to us twenty years ago?"

"I do," she replied. _Death of the King. Slaughter at the God's Eye lake,_ Samara parroted in her mind.

"We are fighting for the whole world, not any Lord or Lady, we fight to fulfil our hopes of twenty-five years. The world _needs_ us. And now we have the chance, the best chance we will ever have." Father paused. "Do not worry daughter. I know why these thoughts are coming to your mind. Tonight everything will become clear. All will be revealed tonight _."_

Her eyes widened. "You mean?"

Suddenly Father smiled. "Yes, my sweet."

* * *

 **XX**

* * *

"That should do fine," Ryger pointed at some goats quenching their thirst by the river, mere silhouettes against the twilight surroundings. "You people set up everything. I will get the supper."

"Yeah you do that," Hal grinned. "I'll be watching from here."

The sun had already disappeared in the west by the time they reached the Bite, the river flowing midway between Pentos and Myr. They'd spend the night here, sleeping around the fire while one of them would stand guard. Kob (the third friend whose name Davos didn't know earlier) was to be the first one awake. "No funny business," Davos had told the boy. "If I hear from the woman that you tried bothering her, then you and I will have all sorts of trouble."

"No need my friend," Betha had said, setting her gaze on Kob. "he'll be gelded long before you get your hands on him."

Davos and the others moved to tether their animals to two guava trees, while Ryger tiptoed towards the goats. The spear he threw missed splendidly and splashed loudly into the water. The scared goats bolted away and Ryger ran after them cursing; and Hal boomed with laughter. The sellswords said something amongst themselves in their language, and then one of them went after Ryger to help him.

They found a nice spot to sit under the two guava trees. Before long they had the fire as well, beating away the cold and darkness. Up in the sky a full moon was looking down on them, but Davos could hardly see much beyond the crackling fire. But he knew there were dense woods behind him, and there was a river nearby deep enough to drown men. Betha rubbed her palms and pointed them at the crackling fire, her eyes looking into the flames.

"When will he be back, that Ryger fellow," Rolly asked.

"Who knows. I wonder if he even caught that goat," Hal replied rubbing his belly. "I am hungry."

"My friend will help," One of the sellswords said in broken tongue. "He will come, with the...animal."

"We should look for fish," Tom insisted, "the river has a lot, I saw it three days ago."

"Fishing in the dark," Hal laughed. "Good luck with that. More like you'll slip and feed those bloody fish."

Tom bristled. "I'll show you old man." He stood up and scampered away.

"I won't come save you boy. Come sit your ass down," Hal called back, but Tom didn't return.

"Let him be," Davos said, amused by the whole thing. "Who knows he might catch some. Why don't you two go help your friend," he urged Rolly and Kob, but they shook their head and stayed put.

Soon enough they heard Ryger's humming from afar. "Would you look at him," Davos said as the youth came into view with the dead goat slung on his back. "So proud on catching a goat. As if he is the Sword of the Morning himself after killing the Smiling knight."

"You should show some appreciation Davos," Ryger called as he put down the goat in front of them. "I saved your sorry belly from going empty this night."

"And mine too," Betha replied. "On behalf of _us_ all I thank you."

"Why thank you m'lady," said Ryger. "What kind of a name is that anyway, _Sword of the Morning?_ Sounds like something I'd call my cock when I wake up."

Tom returned to them with two fish. "See what I told you old man," he smirked. "I caught two."

Davos examined the fish. "These two have been dead for hours," he said. "Did you beat them against a rock too?"

"No," Tom said defiantly. Clearly he was a bad liar.

"Don't try to fool us boy. Go throw them away, or eat them yourself if you want to die tomorrow."

They skinned the goat and put if over the fire. As it roasted the talk began. The sellswords didn't talk but only listened intently.

"The Bravosi are getting fatter everyday," Hal said loudly. "Never had known those uptight oiled bastards to love _fun_ this much. One day they want this, other day that. I am not complaining, it is good business. But still, this is too much."

"Don't blame the poor Bravosi," Ryger smiled. "Their city is already depressing, wet and rainy always. A bit of fun won't hurt them."

"Why are you saying they are getting fatter," asked Rolly. "Your horses carry herbs, not wine and stuff?"

"You think this is the only thing I trade boy," Hal replied. "I have tens of men and boys under me. They all take things to Bravos these days. Me, I only travel when precious stuff is to be smuggled, like flowers from the Jade Sea, and the spirits that you three are have on you."

"Actually," Davos said. "You are forgetting one thing Hal. The Northern kingdom of Westeros is trading more now, and it does so mostly with Bravos. Perhaps half of what you are giving there will end up going across the Narrow Sea."

"Non sense," Hal proclaimed. "How can those freakish snow people want so much? Sure they are trading more, but it is still bloody cold up in White Harbor."

"I travelled to White Harbor before the winter. All sorts of people are moving there, even some from Lys and the Summer Islands," Davos replied. "Surely that'd mean more things going there, even things like the herbs that you carry. Where there is an increase in trade, there's also increase in smuggling."

"There lies the problem," Betha said, her eyes still gazing into the flame. "What those people did in the North didn't solve the problem, but only aggravated it."

"What do you mean woman," Hal asked.

"Never you mind good man," she replied.

"Enough with this dour talk," Ryger declared cheerfully as he leaned forward to turn the goat. "Let's sing a song shall we."

"What are you nine," Davos scoffed.

"What are you ninety," Ryger threw back. "Everyone should sing once in a while, or you will grow old faster. Actually, same thing applies to one other thing as well."

"Fucking you mean," Hal said.

"Can't slip one past you my friend," Ryger replied. The three friends laughed loudly. Betha was still gazing into the fire. The hungry look in her eyes disturbed Davos.

Ryger started singing. 'Bear and the Maiden Fair' came first. Everyone except Davos was Essosi and so had no idea about the lyrics so they kept quiet. Davos too chose to listen. Ryger did have a nice voice. Betha was still looking in the flames which Davos found queer.

'The Queen took off her sandal, the King took off his Crown' came next, and Davos joined in this time. After that when they finished 'the Dornishman's wife' together Ryger got up swaying and kissed Davos on the cheek. Everyone hooted in cheers, and Davos laughed. The three friends had careless smiles on their faces, and looking at them removed the worst suspicions Davos had about the three. _They are only boys,_ he thought, _lecherous boys, but boys nevertheless._ He glanced at Betha, and all of a sudden his stomach dropped.

She was no longer looking in the fire. Instead her eyes, her _hateful_ bloodshot eyes, were trained at Davos, as she glared at him without any of her previous warmth.

"Something wrong m'lady," he asked, while Hal asked Ryger for another song.

Her gaze turned normal in a heartbeat. "Nothing Ser Davos," she replied, and looked away.

Ryger's enthusiasm was only growing. He began singing 'The Seasons of my love', while Hal took over the duty of turning the goat from him. After that the songs became more somber, the 'Song of the Seven' followed 'Alyssane' and 'Fallen Leaves'. By the time he was done with them the goat had started smelling nice and tasty.

"Alright, so this song, it is new. And it is very sad," Ryger said. "Listen well, my fellows." He cleared his throat and began

 _ **High in the Halls, of the Kings who are gone,**_

 _ **Jenny will dance with her Ghosts.**_

 _ **The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found,**_

 _ **And the ones who loved her the most.**_

Ryger was in the wrong business, that much was sure. He was a fantastic singer. And the song indeed was new. Everyone was listening to him, even Betha.

 _ **The ones who'd been gone for so very long,**_

 _ **She couldn't remember their names.**_

 _ **They spun her around on the old damp stones,**_

 _ **Spun away all her sorrow and pains.**_

 _ **And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave...**_

"Join me everyone," Ryger shouted, and everyone sang along with him, proclaiming that this 'Jenny' never wanted to leave her halls.

"The goat is done," Davos observed. He looked around and found Betha missing.

"No it's not. I bet it is still raw inside," said Hal. "Gods I am hungry."

"Where is the woman," Davos asked.

"Let the lady relieve herself in peace you dolt," Ryger chuckled. He pulled out the wild fruits he had plucked on the road and placed them on a linen sheet. Then he turned the goat a couple more times.

"I think you better call your lady now Davos. It has been some time since she left, and I don't trust this area," said Hal, pointing towards the trees.

Davos stood up and walked away. Ryger started singing again, his song drifting towards him with the breeze.

 _ **The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found,**_

 _ **And the ones who loved her the most.**_

"Betha," Davos called into the moonlit woods. No reply came, only the whistling of wind. Davos walked into the woods a bit more, and spotted her form. She was sitting on a stump with her back to him. "Come back m'lady," he said. "The supper is almost done." Ryger's voice again drifted to them.

 _ **From winter to summer, and winter again**_

 _ **Till the walls did crumble and fall.**_

Betha got up and turned towards him. "Sure let's go," she said. _Is she alright?_ Davos couldn't see her face. Ryger's voice came again.

 _ **And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave..**_

When they returned the goat was removed from the fire. Hal and one of the sellswords carved and distributed it amongst everyone. As they munched on the mutton Ryger started talking again.

"You know I have a beauty waiting for me back at Bitterbridge," he said somberly as the fire crackled. "Nights like these are when I miss her the most. Makes me sad."

"Tell me about her," Hal asked.

Ryger smiled a genuine smile. "Brown eyes, black hair that make the most beautiful curls. Her front teeth have a little space between them, but when she smiles it is the most beautiful thing in the world. And when she laughs! _Gods!_ When she laughs she makes a very throaty sound that used to melt my heart. A hundred men were after her, but she chose me." He laughed, looking into the fire. "I told her I'll be back soon, with a lot of silver. Turns out I didn't make that much here. I wonder what she'll say."

"Don't worry about it my friend," Davos said. "It won't matter if she loves you."

"Who knows how much she likes me now," he said miserably. "Or how angry she'll be with me when I return. Turns out I was just another one of those losers who went East to make money. I had whores along the road in my stay here, but they were just whores. I bet she has already found a man by now, to keep her warm. I can't stay here longer, not anymore. I miss my home" He looked around. "Gods I would kill for some ale."

"What about you Davos," Hal asked. "Is the wife well?"

"She is well," Davos replied, remembering her. _She must be feeding the boys right now, back at our house in Tyrosh._ "She misses me less ever since we had our second boy. But still I often have bad dreams, that some man will come and steal her away while I am smuggling pearls for some yellow spicelord." He chuckled. "I brush them aside, obviously."

"See that is why I never got married," Hal said. "Whores are the best. They take your gold and show you the world. Nothing more nothing less." The three friends cackled.

"That is where you are wrong," out of nowhere Betha spoke. Her voice had become unusually sharp, and condescending. "Love is the most _beautiful_ thing in the world. Every man and woman must experience it before their death, and it makes me feel sad for you."

 _"Love?"_ Hal laughed. "No need to feel sad for me woman. You don't know my life. My father beat my mother every day, and one day I killed him. You know what my mother did after that? She reported me to the Magister. I ran away before they could get me." Hal turned bitter as he remembered it all. He pushed more kindling into the fire. "Whatever love is or is not, it made my poor mother get thrashed and humped every day. And look at you woman. Your husband is dead. A sane woman would have moved on and found another man. Instead you are trudging dusty tracks with us, and why, to _honor_ him? I say ' _love'_ is shit which brings us all down."

What Hal said had certainly touched a nerve, for Betha's nostrils flared with anger. But then her face eased, and she chuckled. Her laugh was cold and disdainful, ringing with the ominous wind of the night. The fire hissed and crackled. "You know what separates us humans from the goat we are eating?"

Hal smirked. "Love?"

"Not love," she said. " _Purpose_. Without _purpose_ men are nothing more than animals. Love helps us find that _purpose_ , something to latch on to even when the whole world stops making sense."

Ryger whistled. "That's deep. Tell me about this man of yours m'lady. I'd love to know more about someone who inspires such loyalty."

"I suppose you all deserve to know," she said, mostly to herself. All eyes were on her, waiting for her to speak. Betha however was looking into the fire, hardly taking note of those around her. Davos recognized the look on her face, the look of someone nursing a deep hurt inside. She was hugging her knees, and her eyes were moist, but perhaps that was because of the glare from the fire. Davos leaned forward for a better listen.

"I remember the last time _he_ spoke to me," she spoke, and the wind whispered by. "The whole world had turned against him. Everything he had tried to do had been ruined, and all that was left was shattered dreams and unfulfilled desires. An ordinary man would have killed himself, but _he_ smiled. He smiled, for us! 'We will get through this,' he said. 'We are destined to'. I wanted to help him, but what could I do really? I was...helpless."

Betha hung her head. It was a pitiful sight, but something about her voice made the hair on the back of Davos's neck rise up.

"No God had ever heard my prayer. Not the Seven, not the Old tree gods, not even Rhollor. But _he_ heard me. _Gods!_ He saved me! I was nothing before him," her voice twisted in anguish. "Even though he was married to his Queen I loved him. He gave my life meaning, how could I not love him for it." The fire hissed again, punctuating Betha's words.

"What he did for me," she spoke, "he wanted to do for everyone. He wasted away everything for it, his friends, family, his peace of mind. And _they_ betrayed him. _They_ killed him! I saw it happen. I wish I hadn't. It still keeps me awake at nights." She shuddered. "The fire _exploded_ my King's body...blown to _bits_. My _King_...gone.. _dead_." Half her face was hidden in the shadow. Davos saw her tightly pressed lips, and the first of her tears streaming down her cheeks. His heart went out for her, but at the same time his stomach had become a bottomless pit.

"He suffered all that for the people," Betha spoke, her voice now getting angrier with every word. "And _look_ what the people are doing now. They are singing about _Jenny_ and her dance!" She snorted in derision. "What did that girl ever do for them?! How quickly they have forgotten the one who _died_ for them, for all of them?"

Ryger seemed to have had enough. "What in seven hells are you rambling woman," he shouted in fear.

"Who was this man," Davos asked. " _Who_ betrayed him?"

That made Betha look up, and Davos froze with fear when he saw her face. All humanity had left Betha. All that remained on her tear streaked face was pure hatred, and vengeance.

" _Demons,"_ she rasped.

Betha stood up suddenly and towered over a stupefied Hal. "So you see, you _pathetic_ imbecile, what it all means to me? The flame that Aegon lit must keep burning bright, a Bright Fire! And I will make sure of that. I won't run to the North and find myself a 'new man'. I will _fight_ for my old one."

And something impossible started happening, something that no sane man ever expects to see in his life. The amethyst on Betha's ring flashed, and Betha started changing. Her face was _changing_. Her skin was getting lighter. And her hair, Davos _couldn't_ believe his eyes, her hair were turning...silver.

Betha turned towards the woods, and screamed.

" _ **Now**!_" Her voice was vengeful and vicious, but who was she screaming at? Before another thought could come in Davos's mind a black stiletto came flying from the woods behind and pierced into Ryger's neck. Ryger's scream came in the form of a tortured gurgle. He rose up, eyes wide in shock, wheezing helplessly as he reached for his bleeding throat. Davos shouted in alarm and stood up cursing along with the others and Ryger stumbled and fell face first into the fire. Hal pulled out his dirk, but before he could do anything an arrow punched into Hal's shoulder and then another in the gut. Hal fell backwards with a dull thud.

Armed men and women emerged from the woods, their gaze malevolent as the Stranger. "Take everything you want, just spare our lives," Rolly shouted frantically. No reply came from them. They just stood there sizing them up. And then they came, swords raised high. Davos and his companions were outnumbered, that much was certain. Davos slashed his dagger, but his assailant dodged and kicked him with disdain. Davos fell down and saw white when his head banged hard against the ground. The intruders attacked those who were still standing. Davos's companions fought well but eventually were all outdone. The intruders butchered them like they were born for it. Kob fell down first with his entrails hanging out. Then a sellsword. Then another sellsword. Tom and Rolly died next. And finally the last sellsword, falling with his throat wide open.

 _Why am I still alive,_ Davos wondered through the daze in his head. That was when he saw a silver haired woman looming over him, a steel dagger clasped in her hand. Her haunting violet eyes were looking down at him in pity. With a sad face she stooped down, and plunged the dagger into Davos's chest.

He felt the wind being knocked out from his chest as he fell backwards. The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt. Blood burst out of his mouth, and he found it difficult to breathe.

"I am _so so_ sorry, my knight." Her voice was familiar. _Betha?_ He remembered her changing. She didn't look Myrish now. She looked...

"Tar..." Davos tried to say, but only more blood came out from his mouth in form of ragged coughs.

"It was never meant to be this way. You were never meant to be killed. You are a good man, I meant what I said. The others, they were all murderers, thieves, rapers, sinners; even the one with the lady love. But not you," she shook her head. "I had seen you in the flames some time ago you know, feeding onions to the starving. But tonight when we sat around the fire I saw the whole picture. It is queer what and when the flames show us." She wiped the sweat from Davos's face and he coughed out more blood. "You were helping _ **them**._ Your intentions were good, but the results...who'd have thought that some harmless onions could do so much damage. I couldn't risk it Ser Davos. You had to die, there was no way around that."

"I promise you, on my honor," she spoke, "that I will look after your family. Your wife and boys will live a happy life, away from all this mess. That is the least I can do."

 _I am innocent,_ Davos wanted to say, but no voice came out. No breathe came in.

The silvered haired Betha closed her eyes in mourning. "I know you are innocent," she said. "I feel great pain because of your passing."

"But you know what," she opened her eyes. "I am grateful for the pain. It proves that I am not dead inside." Her macabre smile was as honest as it could be. "It proves, that _he_ is still alive in me."

He saw the dagger rising again. _Forgive me Marya,_ he remembered his wife and sons. The dagger came down, and Davos saw no more.

* * *

 **XX**

* * *

Samara watched as _the Lady_ finished off the last robber with a quick thrust to the heart. Then she rose, and turned towards them. _So this is Lady Rhaenyra. She is...breathtaking._ Sweat glistened above her brow, and her long silver hair were tussled from the wind. But her eyes, they were burning, burning with resolve, with faith, with...hope.

"Take care of the bodies, see to it that they are buried or burnt with respect," the _Lady_ spoke, her voice ten times more inspiring than Samara's father. "Everything we need is in those sacks beside their animals, and it needs to go to Pentos by the morning. Our scholars will know what to do with the herbs and the spirits."

"Yes, my lady," they all replied.

"We will have to travel at night for this," the Lady spoke on. "It will be tiring, but remember we are short on time. We have to finish our work before the Prince leaves for his tourney, and the _rest_ after everything will be even sweeter."

The _Lady_ smiled, and her voice softened. "You all have done well. I am proud of you. No salted beef today! There's fresh meat for us." Her eyes flickered towards Samara and gave her a knowing glance, much to the young soldier's astonishment.

The _Lady's_ violet eyes found Father. "Ser Monford, I want to have a word with you, in a while," she spoke, and finally walked away towards the tethered animals. Karl, Qhuogo, and some others followed to inspect the spoils with her, while the remaining started lifting and robbing the dead bodies. But Samara didn't move. She couldn't. She stood grounded to the spot, her mind still processing what had just happened.

Samara felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Father smiling at her, the reflection of the burning fire dancing in his pupils. "Remember this well daughter," he spoke. "Whenever you doubt our purpose. Whenever your resolve weakens. All you need to do is remember _her._ Remember her face, and the fire that burns inside her, inside all of the _Company_. Remember it, and you will never lose your path, my sweet."

Samara heeded Father's words. She looked at Lady Rhaenyra. The _Lady was_ instructing Qhuogo the Fierce about the spoils in his own horselord language, and he was listening to her like a trained pup. The same _hope_ and _resolve_ was still shining in her eyes, and suddenly Samara's mind felt anchored, anchored to the _Lady_ and her eyes.

She nodded. It all made sense to her now. "Yes father," she said, resolutely.


	7. Jaime I

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Jaime had been practicing swords with Addam Marbrand in the yard when the servant came for him.

It was a bright spring morning in Casterly Rock, with the morning sun shining a bright Lannister gold over the colossal castle and the city around it. Jaime had fetched out his childhood friend as soon as he could for a lively bout of swordplay. What better way to start the day than making his sword sing, except for waking in Cersei's arms. More importantly, what better way to distract himself from the curdled future that was staring at him.

Addam wasn't as eager as Jaime when he found him in his chamber. "What's the point," he complained. "You are the one who's gonna win anyway."

"Too bad," Jaime replied with a smirk. "But you're the only one here who's half a challenge. And don't you remember what the philosophers say. 'Every _failure_ is a lesson'."

Sword practice in Casterly Rock was done on a flattened terrace very near its base, on the 'second storey' if one could call it that. From the parapet to the east one could view the tourney grounds and rows of houses beyond it; and the tall double walls that separated Lannisport from the rest of the hilly Westerlands. On that breezy terrace Jaime and Addam armed themselves and took their positions.

Even though it was a practice sword its polished hilt felt right in Jaime Lannister's gloved fingers. It made him feel certain, sure of himself. Marbrand started first. He came with a looping slash which Jaime had no trouble parrying long before it was anywhere near him. Addam followed it up with a lunge and Jaime met him, blade on blade. And so it began, the s _ong_ of steel, the _dance_ of swords. It was an effortless art for Jaime Lannister. Nothing else had ever made him feel more alive, other than feeling himself inside Cersei. Jaime had asked _her_ to come and watch him fight, and relish his victory. "I have work to do, and you always win anyway," She had replied before leaving him behind. Somehow she still thought that they wouldn't be separated soon never to live together again, or she just refused to believe it.

Despite his earlier reluctance Marbrand was showing surprising alacrity. Jaime twirled his sword playfully as he circled Marbrand like a lion. And then he pressed his attack. The ringing of steel brought in many onlookers eager to watch the show. Jaime's dwarf brother Tyrion had been there from the start, clapping and cheering for his big brother. Jaime aimed a vicious slash at Marbrand's neck, which Marbrand dodged narrowly before taking a defensive stance. Jaime pushed forward, aiming unrelenting blows at Marbrand's neck and torso. Addam defended well but Jaime knew he wouldn't last long. He didn't have the stamina. Marbrand was already panting, his sandy hair drenched in sweat.

"You are fast, for a man who is still a squire," Jaime taunted. Even after two years of service to Casterly Rock Addam was yet to be knighted.

Addam took the taunt in his stride, for the Heir of Ashemark smirked when he pressed his next attack. Addam came with a high ended slash but at the last moment feinted and aimed at Jaime's belly. Jaime went on his backfoot reeling. _Impressive_. He was about to acknowledge his opponent's skill when Marbrand's taunt came.

"And you are slow. For a Kingsguard knight," Addam taunted back.

Addam's words hit him hard and in all the wrong ways. _Why did he have to remind me of THAT?_ The Mad King's unwashed face flashed in front of his eyes, the look of glee in his mad eyes when he had announced that he was robbing Lord Tywin of his heir. And rage thrummed through Jaime's body, rage that roughened his breathe and narrowed his vision to Addam and his pathetic practice sword. Jaime rushed him without holding back. Addam's eyes widened as he defended from Jaime's sudden onslaught.

"Ser Jaime," a man called from behind. Jaime paid him no mind. Instead he knocked aside a backhanded slash from his friend and pushed forward. Marbrand couldn't keep him at bay anymore, and Jaime hit him, again and again.

"Ser Jaime," the man called again, his voice sharper this time. Jaime didn't listen again. But then he felt two pairs of hands holding his shoulders, holding him back. Addam was on the ground, with his forgotten practice sword and wooden shield. His lip was bleeding. "Better listen to the man _friend,"_ he gasped, wincing in pain. _"_ Might be something important."

They all were staring. Jaime threw away his practice sword and shield, and pushed strands of his disheveled golden hair behind his ears. He couldn't bear to look at the injured Addam. "I'm sorry," he mumbled an apology, and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Sweat was cooling inside his doublet, and his throat was sore from the bite of the cold air. "Better make it quick," Jaime said to the servant when he was near him. And that was when he was hit by the servant's message.

"Lord Tywin is waiting for you in the entrance yard. He says there is a grave matter he wants to discuss with you."

It was a simple enough statement, yet it made the very world around Jaime tremble. " _Grave matter_? What grave matter," the words came out on their own.

The man shrugged. "He didn't say _Ser_. I am just a messenger."

Tyrion started following Jaime when he left the practice yard. "Where are you going," the boy asked.

Jaime looked down at him. "It's Father. He sent for me." That made Tyrion stay behind.

* * *

A week had passed since they had returned from King's Landing. The former Hand of the King Lord Tywin Lannister had resigned and had returned with his family to Casterly Rock when Jaime was named a Kingsguard. A fool might think it a huge honor, and he might be right. But Jaime was a Lannister, and that too the son of the mighty Tywin. 'Lions were meant to rule, not serve as bodyguards,' Jaime had heard Father rave at Uncle Kevan. It was an obvious slight, a hollow honor, another glob of spit on Lord Tywin's face. If only Jaime could see it beforehand, before agreeing to Cersei's ploy. It had been her idea, and her gambit failed spectacularly. Jaime could never be with Cersei now given how things looked. And Father, he had not found the time to speak to Jaime since then and instead had locked himself away in his lordly duties. Jaime Lannister was finding it hard to swallow the bitterness that it all had left him with.

But there was something worse Jaime had been dreading ever since that night with Cersei in the Capital, and now that dread was staring him in the face. _What if he finds out?_ When he emerged from the Lion's Mouth he spotted Lord Tywin near the castle gates, ahorse along with his brothers Kevan and Gerion. All three Lannister brothers were dressed in riding attire, crimson leather jerkins over black doublets. "Jaime," Uncle Gerion called when he spotted him. His cheerful tone gave comfort to Jaime, but his eyes never left Father. Lord Tywin was looking at Jaime with the same deadpan expression that was characteristic of him ever since Mother died. That expression was a comfort too in a way, a sign of normalcy.

"Father. Uncle Kevan. Uncle Gerion." Jaime addressed them all. "I hear you have summoned me."

"Get a horse. We are going for a ride," Lord Tywin said, terse as usual. Jaime wanted a wash and a change of clothes, but instead he went inside the stable and came out atop a white mare. Together they made their way out of the castle. They were riding west towards the port. Eight guardsmen were going with them, from Lord Tywin's personal guard, four leading the way and four tailing behind. When Jaime was fully convinced that this wasn't about him and Cersei a new question emerged in his mind. _Then what is this about?_

The perspiration started drying off, leaving behind a discomforting feeling that made Jaime sorely miss the bathhouse. They reached the bustling port and took the road running along the shore, turning the heads of men, women, and children as they went past them. Fluttering lion banners greeted them at the Harbor gate as they rode through the stony archway to exit the city. They broke into a gallop when the road became empty enough. The countryside of Westerlands was getting ready for the first sowing. The road cut through recently tilled fields and the farmer hovels, punctuated by the characteristic hills of the West laden with vegetation. Soon enough the fields became sparse as well, and gave way to trees.

They had traveled a little less than half a league when they finally arrived at their destination. It was a cottage, a cozy cottage nestled in a patch of birch trees some yards into the wilderness. A horse drawn wheelhouse that looked familiar to Jaime was parked nearby, its horses chomping on the straw heaped in front of them. Standing guard at the cottage door was the silent Ser Illyn Payne. He was honing his longsword, his hollow stare fixed in the direction from which they were approaching. Above him on the trees some cuckoos were shrieking loudly. The guardsmen took their horses and the three Lannisters made their way into the cottage. "Well done Payne," Lord Tywin clapped a hand on Ser Illyn's shoulder as he walked past him.

The cottage had a musty floor but it was clean, too clean. The double bed in the middle had a lordly feel to it. There were several armchairs placed around a wooden table, and on one of them sat Lady Genna Lannister.

"Ah so you brought _all_ the men," Aunt Genna remarked looking at Father. "Too bad Tyg is in Crakehall. He will feel so left out when he finds out."

"Aunt Genna," Jaime was surprised. "I thought you had gone to..,"

"The Twins?" Lady Genna's buxom chest heaved with laughter. "As if I'd spend my spring in that pigsty. No, it was all Tywin's plan for me to have an excuse to come here." She gestured at Father who nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. "My Lord Husband is still ardently pursuing his way to his home. Dreaming of his weasel faced relatives no doubt. I feigned sickness and took my leave, but I came here instead of returning to the Rock, or rather was escorted by Illyn Payne." She looked around. "What is this place anyway. Can anyone tell me," she asked, with the same curiosity that Jaime had.

"This is my cottage," Uncle Gerion said as they took a seat around the table. "I had it built secretly for my..well, some of my romantic trysts. At least I thought it was a secret. Tywin knew from the start." Uncle Gerion grinned nervously at the Lord of Casterly Rock. Jaime could see how such a place could be useful. Ever since King's Landing he and Cersei had not gotten a chance to get alone together. There were too many eyes in Casterly Rock.

Lord Tywin paid Uncle Gerion's cheek no mind. "Pour us some water brother," he said instead. Uncle Gerion looked around, shrugged, and proceeded to fill four tumblers of water from a pitcher nearby. Jaime suddenly realized how thirsty he was.

"Gerion's _baser_ urges have served us for once," Lord Tywin said after drinking deep from his tumbler. "We are to leave for Harrenhal in a week, and it was imperative that I talk to you all before that. This cottage has provided us a secluded place to talk for some time, far from the watchful eyes and ears. We won't be coming here again."

"And if anyone is wondering, you can sit on the bedding. I have it changed," Uncle Gerion winked.

"And why _have_ we come here, care to tell us Father," Jaime asked after having finished his water. "You must understand how queer this must seem to me, being pulled from practice and riding half a league into the countryside. And who are these watchful eyes you are _afraid_ of all of a sudden? These are strange times when the Lannisters _themselves_ are afraid of _listeners_ in the Rock."

Father gave Jaime a shriveling look. "I hope time teaches you to stop acting foolish." He then gestured at Uncle Kevan to speak.

Lord Tywin had a face and demeanor cast in stone. His gold flaked green eyes were two chips of emerald, never letting any vulnerability peep through. Uncle Kevan on the other hand was a very different man, having no qualms in showing exactly how he was feeling. He sounded afraid. "I know it may come as a shock to you three. But a grave danger looms over our family and the realm. We might be at war soon."

His voice was grave, but his words rang hollow to Jaime. "With who," Aunt Genna asked in a grounded voice, her eyes on Lord Tywin.

Jaime cut in between. "I don't know Uncle, things seem pretty peaceful to me," he spoke, smirking. "We are even having a great tourney in Harrenhal. If there was indeed a war coming then surely we would have noticed. You know how it goes. Levies coming in, food being..."

"The _Company of the Dragon,"_ Father answered Aunt Genna. Jaime was cut off abruptly, both in speech and in thoughts. _That_ phrase, it had meaning for Jaime, more than anyone in the cottage knew. He found himself thinking of a time not too long ago, when he had been one of the chosen few who had trudged though the chilly air and snow-laden terrain of the Kingswood alongside Ser Arthur Dayne, to hunt down the outlaws called the Kingswood Brotherhood. Jaime had killed his first man there, and had witnessed the legendary duel between Ser Arthur and the Smiling knight, the leader and the last of the outlaws.

The Smiling knight was a nasty piece of work, but he was no match for the Sword of the Morning. His dying words were etched in Jaime's memory. The outlaw was on his knees trying to nurse the gaping hole in his chest. His mouth was full of blood and his strength was leaving him fast, but his bloodshot eyes were defiant till the end, right upto the point they had turned glassy and hollow. "This isn't over. _Purpose.._ _Rhaenyra..yes...she_ will get you all," he had rasped in a tortured voice, right before he had fallen backwards to his death. Remembering those words made Jaime shiver.

* * *

"What of them," Uncle Gerion asked, suddenly serious. "The Company is all the way on the other continent."

"They most certainly aren't," Uncle Kevan said. He paused, struggling with his words. "Look, it is hard to explain..."

"Then let me make it easy Kevan because we didn't come here to struggle with words,," Father said with impatience. First he addressed Jaime. "Wars are not always fought and won with swords Jaime. In some wars you may not need levies or food stocks at all. Some wars can be won with quill and paper, and some with whisper and poisons. A good _knife_ is all that is required to kill a tree. Make a ring deep enough in its bark, and soon it will die on its own, without the need of any axes. Enemies don't always need to be killed in fist fights. They can be made to kill each other, or can be bled to death by nicks and cuts."

 _He is counselling me as if I am still his heir._ If anyone could have the nerve to do so, it was Lord Tywin.

Father stroked his chin. "I suppose you all must know how it went. Twenty years ago Aegon's Legion was beaten and scattered around by the _might_ of House Whent, or whatever passes for _might_ over there." He scoffed. "After that some of its members went to the free city of Myr and took over the Golden Company. Four years later I was appointed Hand by our _beloved_ King, and that was when the situation came to _my_ notice. The Company had expanded manifolds and had devious ambitions. It had been the biggest worry for King Jahaerys, and after him it was Aerys's pain and by extension my own. I am sure the tidings reached Casterly Rock," he looked at everyone. "The Company had kept themselves busy. Increasing piracy in the Stepstones, the Volantene slave cogs being sunk, raids on Myrish trade routes...the attempts on my life..assassins sent to kill Aerys in Duskendale...murder of the Rosby brothers. Each of these had the marks of the Company etched all over them."

"When Aerys started losing it the task of thwarting them fell on me. They never left you see, they were always there, right under our noses, trying to make madness and treason fester around us." Lord Tywin's hands coiled into fists.

"I am sure we all know this," Uncle Gerion spoke, smiling. "In essence the Golden Company changed their name. They are plotting the same way the Blackfyres plotted once, only more ferociously."

Lord Tywin stared at him like he would at a witless chicken. "Don't look at me like that brother," Uncle Gerion smiled nervously. "It is you who brought me here, so you must suffer my ignorance."

"Better keep quiet now Gerion," Aunt Genna patted his head. Jaime suppressed a snort.

"The Company has come from Aegon's Legion," spoke Lord Tywin, "and Aegon's Legion came from the Charter. That _damned_ Charter," he spat out the words. "Aegon thought he was being the very image of piety and wisdom, thought the Charter would be his legacy. Here we are twenty years later, with his legacy plaguing us all. Those _sellswords_ want to change Westeros you see, and the change will only cause madness to fester."

Jaime suddenly remembered something. "There was also talk of some prophecies Father. Something about a Promised Prince, and a Night that never ends."

"And how do you know this," Father asked.

Jaime took a moment to respond. "I overheard Arthur Dayne speaking about it when I was in the Kingswood. He was talking to another knight serving the Dragons. Apparently," he paused, "the Sword of the Morning believed in the prophecies as well."

Father's lips thinned into a line. "Like I said. _Madness. Madness_ and _stupidity_ , right at the heart of the court that _rules_ us all. It is not just Dayne who believes in nonsense. These sellswords have traveled around and recruited all sorts of resourceful people who share their beliefs of prophecies and sorcery. Those who don't are all brainwashed to serve the purposes of the Company."

"And that's not all," Father added. "Apparently, the Prince of Dragonstone believes in it as well."

" _Rhaegar Targaryen!_ " Aunt Genna gasped. "But he is so.."

"Noble? Gallant?" Lord Tywin cut her in between. "He might be those things, but the boy's head has always been in the clouds. I should have seen it coming." " His look darkened even further. "I _saved_ that city and this damned royal regime, whatever little worth it has. Naivety made me believe that once Aerys dies and Rhaegar takes over it will all be good, and once I wed Cersei to the Prince the Lannister name will rise high. But he wed Elia Martell instead who refused to die in childbirth. And _then,_ I found out that the Prince of Dragonstone is himself one of _them,_ not _just_ a condoner but an _active supporter_. That was the last straw, it became clear that they were all hopeless. People are saying that I resigned after the 'dishonor' the King bestowed upon me." He shook his head. "I'd have resigned anyway, even if Jaime wasn't chosen Kingsguard, and leave them to be consumed by their madness. Lannisters will gain _nothing_ by attaching themselves to the dragons."

Father had a look of bitterness on his face. Jaime understood how he felt. Lord Tywin had practically run the realm for the last fifteen years. He had enforced the King's Peace, made trade flourish, given the Lords their rights back, and apparently had also saved the realm from the Company's schemes. And in return the King spat on his face every chance he got. Not just the King, the lickspittles who thought that mocking Tywin Lannister might get them in Aerys's good books _spat_ on his face. Jaime had even heard that Aerys lusted after his late mother Lady Joanna. That alone made Jaime want to plunge his sword in the King's belly.

"And now," asked Uncle Gerion.

"I thought returning to the Rock would give me some long-deserved peace." Lord Tywin drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "That was until I noticed some unusual entries in our Steward books. Some appointments were made in the previous month after unexplained absences and deaths. These appointments stood out, for they were very similar to what happened in Maidenpool."

" _Maidenpool,"_ Lady Genna gasped.

Father nodded grimly. "After the Mooton family was found dead in their chambers by the servants I was sent by the King to look into the matter. I read their books after they were buried. The castle saw something very peculiar some weeks before the incident. They had appointed new cooks and guards after the previous ones died or left, and a fortnight later the whole Mooton family dropped dead without any witnesses. What's more, the Mooton children were all spared."

"Casterly Rock saw similar appointments three weeks back." Jaime felt himself stiffen up. He heard Aunt Genna gasp loudly. Her face had gone pale as milk. Father spoke further. "I called Kevan and acted immediately, but they were forewarned by s _omeone_ in the castle. Kevan still managed to catch a man who was posing as a cook in the kitchens, but he poisoned himself before he could be questioned. The whole thing has been kept quiet, but the rats are already spooked. Whatever the situation may be now, but it can't be denied that the sellswords snuck into Casterly Rock right under the watchful eyes of you all." Lord Tywin looked looked pointedly at his youngest brother and sister.

Suddenly Jaime felt very foolish and afraid. A feeling of icy powerlessness was creeping up his spine. He had always thought the Casterly Rock was impregnable, and now that belief was shattered into pieces, by the Company of the Dragon.

Jaime looked around the uncomfortable faces. Uncle Kevan was staring at his lap, Uncle Gerion looked agitated, while Lady Genna's lips were still parted in shock.

"Are you saying, that our home was invaded? Are we safe? Are my boys safe?" asked a hysterical Lady Genna.

"The danger has been thwarted," spoke Lord Kevan, who himself was looking close to breaking point. "For now."

"But they once tried to kill you Tywin, in King's Landing," Aunt Genna was on her feet. "They could have killed us! They could have..."

"They didn't sister," Uncle Kevan assured his sister. He stood up and hugged her. "Calm yourself. Tywin is here, and me, and Gerion."

Aunt Genna sat down. Jaime could hear his heart beating in his chest. They _could_ have killed them all. Why didn't they? Jaime looked at Father, and found that he was already looking at him. "I agree with Aunt Genna. Why didn't they kill us? Or at least try?" Jaime asked Father.

"I don't know. Perhaps I caught them before they could act," spoke Lord Tywin. "I am sure I will get the whole story once we catch them. They have not left Lannisport, of that I am certain. I had the Steward questioned and hanged in the dungeons. His family is locked in there as well to look at his swinging body. Gerion more water," he abruptly spoke to Uncle Gerion who rose to refill the tumbler.

"Who warned them," asked Aunt Genna. "Do you have any idea?"

"Not yet," Father said. "But sooner or later the person will be caught, and when I find him I will _make him pay_." The way Father said it made Jaime sorry for the man.

"So now that I have 'apprised' you all of how things are, I will talk of what is to be done. All three of you," Father said to his siblings, "will be coming to the Solar at noon everyday. Jaime you will come too. Choose two men or women you trust from the household if you want, no more no less. These _sellswords_ creep in by replacing our people with their own, and we need to keep an eye on that. Kevan will check the records of the soldiers, Genna of the septons and seamstresses, and Gerion of all the rest."

"Who else knows," Jaime asked.

"I sent Tygette to Crakehall with a long letter. Soon the Strongboar will know everything." The Strongboar was the only bannermen who could be counted for unconditional loyalty.

"Other than him?"

"We will be keeping it to ourselves. The household can't know either, for now at least. There may still be some in the castle who got in without being noticed. That is why we have come here."

"Smart move," Jaime nodded at Father. "What about Cersei? She should know as well. They could have killed us!"

"Not yet, she needs to prove herself first," Father replied. "You on the other hand, specifically needed to know this Jaime. Soon we will leave for Harrenhal, and there you will take up your _vows_ of guarding the King. You will be right in the middle of all this madness." Father leaned forward, boring his eyes into Jaime's. "You needed to know what we are up against, a group of mad men and women with means not yet fathomed, and a shared belief of being something higher than others. Remember, you will not let anything get to your head. Not the prophecies, not the honor, not these delusions of greatness people attach with the Kingsguard. You will be our eyes and ears during your stay there."

"Of course I will Father," Jaime replied. "But my 'stay'? Father, the Kingsguard serve for life."

"My son will not spend his life serving as a glorified bodyguard. I will have you return to where you belong soon, one way or other," Lord Tywin proclaimed leaning back. "It was a grim day when I decided to serve as Hand, and it has all led to this. I am of a mind to rectify everything that has gone wrong for us." Father rose up. "We will be leaving now. What we discussed today, we will not talk of it directly in the Rock until I purge it of all the infiltrators." Lord Tywin was looking at Uncle Gerion. "If you can't keep your words vague enough you will write them down and have Illyn Payne brought them to me. He will be getting a permanent chamber in the keep."

Everyone started walking out. The cuckoos were still shrieking on the trees outside. "Clear up this place Gerion," Father told his youngest brother when they exited the cottage. "You will not be coming back here either."

"Sure thing brother," Uncle Gerion said cheerfully. "Just leave behind a man who is willing to stay."

When they were outside Father addressed the eight guards. "One of you will stay behind and help Lord Gerion clear this place." One of them came forward wordlessly.

It was past noon now, and as Jaime Lannister left behind the cottage on horseback he couldn't help but remember the morning, when he had been practicing swords with Addam Marbrand thinking about his future as the Kingsguard. It felt like a whole other time, years away from where Jaime was now, in a world that had suddenly turned very cold despite the hot spring sun shining over him.


End file.
